They Stay Down Deep
by Erlrune
Summary: Brought together by chance. Changed by suffering. Bound to the sea. Neither could have known what would happen, or who they would become. Finnick and Annie's story, from the beginning.
1. Chapter 1

**I've always found Finnick and Annie's story, while heartbreakingly beautiful, to have giant gaps in it. Here is my attempt at filling those gaps. I do not own The Hunger Games.**

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**Chapter 1:**

Over; under; twist this way; now that; now go over – wait no, under – no that's not it. _Look what you did_ a small voice inside the girl's head snapped, as she looked in slight annoyance at the irreparable error in the tapestry she was attempting to weave. Oh well, she would just have to start over, for the fifth time. Yes, twelve-year-old Annie Cresta lacked many things, but at least she was never short of patience. Still she couldn't help but sigh as she pulled out the many stitches she had already made during this last attempt. She dropped her hands from the board she was weaving on, and rubbed her hands. Her fingers had already formed calluses from tying countless knots. And don't forget the ridiculous amount of needle pricks.

Her stomach rumbled, but she ignored the pang of hunger that had just hit her. No food since breakfast? So what, it was only….oh. It was well past midday. For an early riser like herself, this meant over 6 hours since she had last eaten. She remembered now that she hadn't even finished her breakfast, only eating half of a warm, salty roll, before she had lost interest, her appetite small as she had only just woken up. Having wandered to the stall in the markets her aunt and grandmother ran together, she had helped the two older women clean and tidy the stall before the customers came arriving.

Nets, baskets and ropes were always on high demand so business was rarely poor. Then she sat, forever stubborn, with the board set in front of her, attempting to recreate a gorgeous tapestry behind the back counter while facing the sea. The bustling noises of the market stalls was muffled and instead replaced with the steady building and crashing of the waves. Annie liked this sound, especially when the rhythm changed slightly. Just as her being would accustom to the rise and fall of the ocean, a particularly large wave would begin to build, and she would listen, and listen, her fingers still and her quiet humming ceasing, and listen furthermore, until she heard the especially loud crash of water. She hummed again to herself quietly, sometimes letting out the few words she could remember of sea shanties her grandfather sometimes sang to her.

"Annie Cresta!" her grandmother's voice croaked and she stuck her head out from inside the stall. "Child, have you been weaving this whole time?"

Of course not, what a stupid question. She had sung and listened to the ocean as well, but somehow she felt like her grandmother would not count these as being actual pass times like Annie did.

"Pretty much, Nonna," she addressed her grandmother with an old, old word, from some language no longer spoken. When she had asked why, Nonna had told her that's what she had called her own grandmother, which reminded Annie that her grandmother had been born around – if not before - the time of the rebellion, very long ago.

"Well I think that's enough for today," Nonna declared. Annie didn't object, in spite of her determination, her fingers felt numb and she found that the habit of saying "just a little longer" was overpowered by her hollow stomach. She nodded and rose, taking Nonna's hand, "Time for lunch".

After she had eaten her aunt had shooed her away, telling her to go off and play somewhere. Annie scampered off, taking off her shoes, as soon as she was around the corner from the stall. She really didn't care for the wretched things, and was merely forced by her aunt to wear them. "What kind of a lady walks around town bare foot?" was how her aunt had answered her previous inquiries about this. Annie loathed when adults answered questions with more questions. So now with her sandals stored in the tightly woven basket she held, the girl trotted down to the beach and walked along, right where the waves reached, so that her footsteps were left in wet sand but not yet washed away. After about ten or fifteen minutes she had left the town's centre behind and had a reached a part of the beach where very few people resided other than the odd fisherman, and her own family. It was at the edge of a bay, and there laid giant rock pools which to Annie seemed to hold entire worlds. This was her true favourite place in the world. Because you had to climb over a small rock face with a tip that reached over the sea to reach it, it felt extremely secluded, along with the tiny bay next to it. There was very little sand on the beach of this bay and it was just like any other part of the beaches surrounding the district, most likely not as nice, but Annie felt as though it was hers: her own special escape, and that made it special.

Her hand reached greedily for a bit of sea glass that had caught her eye, and when she picked it up and brushed the sand off of its smooth surface she found it to be redder than she had thought. She smiled to herself due to the rare find, and placed it in her basket next to some shells that had taken her fancy. She sat by one of the pools with her feet dipped in the sun heated warmer. She sighed in content setting her basket down next to her, closing her eyes, and humming the same simple tune she had been humming before while brushing her hair with her fingers. It stayed rather wild, but she had freed it of most of the knots the wind had caused. It grew quit slowly, but was thick, and reached far past her shoulders. Annie had a strange habit of chewing strands of hair when she was worried or upset. Washing never seemed to get rid of subtle taste of salt, which she liked, although she had no idea how it got there as she never swum. She let her mind wander to imagining what swimming must feel like, the deepest she would ever go was knee deep, but maybe, maybe…

_Splash_. A splashing sound broke her thoughts and gave her a start. She had been sitting close to the small cliff which marked the edge of the bay, and saw the unmistakable disturbance in the gently undulating water. Something had fallen from the cliff and landed in the water, and she could only stare at disbelief as a boy's head burst from the water, gasping for breath. She remained watching in silence as the boy swam his way around past the rock pools, pushing against the deceivingly strong tide, and paddled to her small beach. Once out of the water he lay down in the sun, short of breath with his eyes closed. He appeared to be smiling to himself.

Annie rose, taking her basket with her, and made her way carefully across the rocks, in and around the life filled rock pools, and over to the shore, where the boy was lying, not noticing her. _What an idiot_, she thought, peering to see his face and see that he was only a year older than she was. The name Finnick Odair appeared in her mind. "Well," she breathed to herself, "It would be Finnick Odair to do something that stupid, wouldn't it?"

He seemed to have heard her though, and peered up to see her standing looking at him from several feet away. His surprise did not show but he was shocked for a second. He didn't think anyone came here.

"What are you looking at?" he asked, though he noticed his voice was slightly aggressive. He hadn't meant it to be, his surprise at finding someone else here had made it that way. "Don't you know not to creep up on a man while he's sleeping?"

His tone seemed to have no effect on her, and she replied, "One, you weren't sleeping. Two, you're not a man, in fact you're hardly older than I am. And three, don't you know not to go jumping off 40 feet high cliffs?" Was he an idiot?

Finnick sat up, "Don't exaggerate; it couldn't have been more than thirty." He let her other statements slide, they were true after all. "And," he added, "It's called fun, Cresta, you should give it a try sometime."

Annie huffed at this, "Sorry if my idea of fun doesn't involve nearly getting myself killed." But her annoyance was gone the second she snapped, what did it matter if some silly fisherman's son didn't think she was daring enough to have fun?

Finnick stood up, dusted his sandy hands off, and said, "Whatever you say Cresta." The scrawny girl with the bushy hair and strangely pale skin eyed him reproachfully. It wasn't that her skin was pale, it was just that it was fairer than most of the rest of the kids at their school. Her skin still had a light brown glow, as the sun shone most days of the year here, but compared to some of the golden skinned people of the district it looked like she rarely went outside. For some reason, the words "Come on" somehow slipped out of his mouth and before he knew it he had grabbed her bony wrist and was taking her up the rocky hill to the cliff. She shook her hand away but continued following him, only a couple steps behind him, her bare feet scaling the rocks with practiced ease. Practiced ease she seemed to share with the Odair boy.

Sure Annie could be a smart mouth, but Finnick possessed a childlike enthusiasm for his newly discovered source of entertainment which he longed to show to someone. He overlooked this flaw in his companion and surprised himself slightly when he decided to lead her up to the cliff. It wasn't as though he disliked her, it felt odd to him just because they had known each other but never really spoken. The new discovery and the surge of bravery which enabled him to jump left him feeling very happy with himself. The cliff face probably loomed about 25 feet about the blue waves, give or take a few feet. When you were up there, it certainly felt like give. He remembered the intense elation and rush of adrenaline he had experienced during the drop, which lasted longer than he had anticipated, and a feeling of falling which was entirely new to him. There had been times before then where he had planned to jump, but looking over the edge had caused his instincts to scream at him to back away. This time, he had taken the cliff at almost a run, not looking, not thinking. Look before you leap? Please.

The two reached the top of the hill. Annie looked around her, admiring the view. Tufts of grass and flowers grew between cracks in the rock and dirt, but the small cliff was mostly bare. Though quite compared to other parts of the shore, it remained rather secluded, as most recreational swimming was done by children at the far end of the bay, a good half hours walk from this point. Dozens of small fishing boats dotted the water all around the coast and the horizon glimmered blue and white with the sun's light bouncing off it playfully. This place really was beautiful. She had never been up here before, as she used to just cross the hill at the ridge to where the rock pools were instead of turning to her left to go to the cliffs edge. It looked too exposed, but now that she was here the surrounding rocks provided hidden sitting places. She knew she would come to visit this place again.

"Come here, look," Finnick was at the cliff's edge, peering over the edge. He felt a thirst for that crazy feeling he had felt falling down, wishing that he could jump again and again and again and fall forever. His previous fear had been replaced with the urge to drop off the edge, it didn't feel right to just stand here looking. "Doesn't it make you just want to…to jump?" His voice sounded excited at the prospect.

Annie did as she was told, setting down her basket, and looked. She felt instantly sick and backed away from the edge almost immediately.

"You're crazy, Odair," she said, feeling slightly faint.

Finnick spun around, "It's not scary at all, its scarier looking over the edge. Come on, you should do it!"

Annie just stared at him. _What an idiot_. Finnick Odair, loved by so many, was turning out to be the stupidest person she had ever met. _I wonder if they realise how stupid he is, and ignore it, or if they're just blind…_

"I just don't think I'd enjoy it," she replied dryly.

"Oh I forgot," Finnick teased sarcastically, "You don't enjoy anything remotely fun." There was no sting in his words though, just friendly teasing.

"Well," replied Annie, "Maybe you should try to remember that for next time." He grinned.

"If you're sure," he said.

She approached the edge one more time, and saw the swirling mass of water beneath her. The surf must have picked up since Finnick had done his jump, and the drop seemed to reach even further down than the first time she had looked. "Yeah," she said, about to turn around, "I'm sure."

Just as she stepped back, she felt hands on her shoulders, jerking her forwards and backwards. Finnick let out a small laugh and shouted, "Saved your life!"

This was not funny to Annie in the slightest. She squealed in shock, and though it was just a second of jerking her heart beat picked up to something frightening. Finnick pulled her back and she turned to push him hard on the chest with both her hands. Unsuspecting of this sudden outburst, he fell back onto the ground, the wind knocked out of him. "Don't _ever_ do that again!" she cried, eyes a crazed mess. "_Ever."_

Finnick looked surprised and struggled for a few seconds to get his breath back. He coughed, "Alright, alright, I wasn't gonna let you fall anyway." He looked at her and shook his head, "Besides, you would've been fine, even if I did."

Annie's eyes narrowed, but she held out a hand to help him up. _Stupid Odair boy_. "I really don't think I would be, Odair." He gripped her hand and she pulled him up.

"Don't be such a drama queen, 25 feet won't kill you," he said as he rolled his eyes.

"It's not the height I'm worried about," she retorted.

He looked at her with a confused expression.

Annie sighed, "I can't swim, idiot."

Finnick's eyebrows went up, "Seriously?" His disbelief was clear in his voice. "Cresta, you live in District 4, _right_ next to the ocean, you're twelve years old, yet you can't swim?"

Annie's eyes narrowed once more, "It's not that I can't swim, I don't want to."

"So you can swim?"

"Well no…"

"Then why do you say that?"

Annie sighed, "I could learn if I wanted to, but I don't, so therefore I see no reason for me to." This wasn't really true, but as if she was going to tell him why she really didn't want to.

Finnick seemed to see right through it though. He scoffed, "Yeah, right. Come on, you seriously just don't want to swim for _no reason_?"

Annie hesitated, "It's not like I don't go into the water or anything." Her voice was getting defensive. _Now who looks like an idiot?_ She thought. "I go deep enough. Just don't swim. I nearly drowned when I was little, you know? No, you can't control those waves, they've got a mind of their own. It seems silly to risk it."

Finnick laughed, he couldn't help it. "No," he said quickly as Annie looked offended and began to turn away, "It's not that. It doesn't matter that you don't swim. It's just what you said about the waves. They're not like that, they're like a bed, you're not meant to fight them. You…you float with them."

Annie nodded slowly, understanding. She looked down to her hands and thought back to the sea shanty she had been humming before. "_It's meant to feel like the ocean_," her grandfather had told her. "_You mean sound?"_ she had answered. Nonno had shaken his head and laughed. _"No, the sea feels like that_."

Finnick was looking at her, slightly puzzled. "You're a strange one, Cresta."

She looked up from her hands, "Huh?" Then realised she had started to hum the song. She tried to retort with something smart, but her focus was lost. Annie Cresta, lost for words? Surely not.

Finnick looked slightly amused.

"Whatever Odair," she muttered, and picked up the basket holding her shoes and shells. "I'll see you later I guess." With that she turned and walked away.

"Hey, Annie," Finnick called after her. She turned to look at him. "Sorry about the whole… cliff thing," he attempted a smile.

Annie just nodded at him, but her lips tightened a bit into the beginnings of a smile, though she didn't feel like pulling a full one. The fact that he had used her name deserved at least some recognition. "Don't let it happen again Odair." She then turned and began to make her way down the rocky hill, down to the main bay, back home.

Finnick watched her as she went, and decided that while Annie was slightly different, she wasn't so bad. Maybe they could even be friends. He didn't stay on the cliff for much longer, and soon began making his way back down to go swimming on his beach again.

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"Hey dad," Finnick peered into the main room of the beachside hut in which he and his father resided. The smell of fish cooking caused his mouth to water.

"Hi son," his father did not look up from the stove, but was concentrating on the fish, making sure not to burn it. While Alec Odair worked very hard to catch fish, he had a certain talent for burning it, "Dinner's almost ready."

The man was tall, and built to be lean. He and Finnick were obviously related, but you could see that there were missing pieces where his mother had left parts of herself on him. Yes they both had skin obviously browned by the sun, though Alec's was darker, and you could see that Finnick was going to be tall and similarly muscled, but that's where the similarities pretty much ended. Finnick's facial features were that of his mother: sea green eyes, angular features and brown hair that had quickly been turned bronze by the sun. Or so he'd been told. Photographs weren't a lot to go by, and when his father had caught him looking at them around a year ago he had snatched them away and stored them in a box. Although Finnick had searched, the box seemed to have disappeared.

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**Basically just an intro chapter, I hope you liked it, review are revered and loved and appreciated and all constructive criticism is more than welcome, really. If there are any mistakes please feel free to point them out. I will most likely be updating weekly at least and have planned several chapters. I haven't exactly decided when this story will end, or if it's going to be broken up because it seems like there's so much to fill in, I'll just see where the story takes me. **


	2. Chapter 2

**I reuploaded this chapter, not sure whether it was just my computer or not but some stuff went wrong and yeah. Also fixed up some things which needed fixing. So I think I've decided to split the story into 3 parts (I think). Good idea? I don't know, so let me know what you think. The Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins.**

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**Chapter 2:**

She was there when he had finished swimming, sitting in the rock pools, staring into them and occasionally reaching to pick out something. A shell or some pretty coral maybe. It was the next morning and Annie had decided against weaving. Well actually, Nonna and Aunt Ayla had decided against it. "Go out and play like a normal child, while you still can", they had said. So she went. Her fingers needed a rest from weaving tapestries and knotting nets anyway.

"So this is your idea of fun?"

She turned at the sound of a voice. Finnick Odair sat down beside her and observed what she was doing. He was not looking at her incredulously though, as though the idea seemed utterly dumb, just with interest. His gaze at her fingers caused them to slip and she dropped the shell she was trying to thread into a bracelet she was making into the water. She hated being watched. He didn't seem to notice her slight frustration at losing the small shell and continued.

"Did you make that?"

She nodded, picked another small shell out of her basket, and wove it into the bracelet. It was deceptively simple by design, really, but the knots still looked rather impressive as they were not very common ones. "My aunt and grandma sell nets and such in the market."

He nodded, "Yeah I know."

Annie looked up from her work, "Oh yeah…Your dad buys from us, doesn't he?"

Finnick nodded once more. He hesitated for a moment, and then asked, "Can you show me how to do that?"

Annie looked up, faintly surprised. "Sure." She replied, giving him the bracelet and getting a new piece of thread to weave with herself. He learned quickly with able fingers that soon picked up the knots needed to make the bracelet. Annie had to admit that she was slightly impressed. Only to herself, of course. Outwardly she would act like it was her skill at teaching that made him so successful. _Probably both,_ she though.

"So how come you come down here?" she asked, breaking the silence as they both worked on their knots.

"It's fun. It's far away. I can pretend I'm someplace else," he shrugged. Then he hesitantly continued, "And my mom used to take me here."

Annie was quiet. She had known that Finnick's mother had died in the same accident that took the life of her own mother several years ago, but somehow she had completely forgotten until now.

"So your mom's…" she tilted her head to the side, in question, but the word didn't leave her lips. Tactless, it would be, to finish that sentence. However the damage had been done, he knew what was implied, obviously. Finnick's hands stopped knotting.

"Yeah," he replied quickly. It was at that point that he no longer sounded like a boy, but much, much older.

Both were quiet, and then hands went back to knotting.

"Mine too."

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School was only 3 or so days a week for the older children of district 4, and classes finished at lunch time. Whoever decided this probably thought that there was no point in taking the children's education too seriously. Really, what else would they do with their lives other than take over their family's businesses? By the time they had entered teenage years most didn't even bother to attend, and didn't have to. Boys and girls would learn to fish, or run stalls, or make nets, or help out on the boats, starting early and ending when their bones and weak old muscles could no longer stand the work they had devoted their entire lives to. In spite of this, Annie still enjoyed school, and excelled at it.

It wasn't that she didn't have friends, sure she could be friendly or play with some of the other kids her age group, it was just that when school was done, there were so many other things to be done, places to go and explore and visit and things to make that no one seemed to see the fun in except for her. Plus, during the summer, most kids went swimming for many hours of the day. What would she do with them, watch from the shore?

During their short recess the following day, Annie was sitting alone on a patch of grass, working on her bracelet.

"Annie! Annie!" some girls her age called to her. She looked up from her knotting.

"Yeah?"

"Do you wanna come hold the rope?" they were skipping with a long piece of twine. "We're trying to see how many we can get in. We can get someone else do it if you don't want."

Annie pocketed the bracelet and put on a tight grin, shaking her head. "No, it's fine, sure."

Eugh, as if she cared about their silly game. Still saying no was not something she was used to.

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A few days later Finnick and Annie had agreed to meet at the rock pools. Finnick was going to show her how to spear fish, something that Annie really didn't seem too excited about. However just the thought of it excited him so she had no choice but to finally give in to his pleas. She realised that while Finnick's personality (and yes, looks) made him popular with many kids at their school, Finnick was quickly finding it harder to find time that he and his friends could spend together. Along with this, there was that attitude… that indefinable 'Finnick' attitude: impatient, adventurous, with very little tolerance to repetition. In this way Annie and he were almost complete opposites. She realised that he may really want a friend to do these fun things with, and who was she to deny him? Not like she had anything better to do.

"Nonna, Nonno, I'm going to go play now!" Annie called as she left her room, but then winced at how childish she sounded. It was nearly the time that she had arranged to meet Finnick. She peered into the kitchen, where her grandmother and grandfather were washing dishes together in the sink. They seemed to not have heard her. _Right I forgot, they're both half deaf now_, she thought. My grandfather was singing loudly to my grandmother, who laughed at him.

Annie cleared her throat. "Yes Annie?" her grandmother said without turning away from the dishes.

"I just said I'm going now," she replied.

"Now?" Nonna turned this time, drying one of the last plates with a cloth, "You're Aunty needs you in the stall, there's lots to do."

Annie was strangely disappointed, though it was only spear fishing. She didn't protest however, just nodded wordlessly.

"Nonsense!" Nonno cried with a laugh. "Let the girl go play, not long and you'll have her living at that stall."

"Well," Annie's grandmother began, "Ayla needs her. There are so many nets to fix and she can't run the stall and do both."

Her grandfather patted her on the arm, "I'll help Ayla. Annie, you go play."

Annie smiled, "Thank you Nonno." She kissed them both on the cheek before she left.

Finnick was not at the rock pools when Annie arrived, so she sat down and drew the almost complete bracelet from her pocket and began to thread. Threading and weaving was as much an enjoyable hobby to her as it was a way to keep her hands busy. She hated not having something to do with her hands. She found that she had a bad habit of picking at her nails and the surrounding skin, biting her nails, chewing strands of hair. Needless to say she almost never had to cut her nails, as they had a tendency to be bitten to the bone.

"Seriously do you ever put that thing down?" she turned to see Finnick smirking.

"Yeah, I just like to look like I'm busy so stupid people don't talk to me," she replied with a slight twinkle in her eye. She put it away though and stood to face him, eying the spears he had brought. "So we're seriously using those to catch fish?"

"Yep, here, take one." But when she went to grab one he pulled it away and shoved the other one into her hand. When she raised her eyebrows he said, "Not this one, it's my trident, you have to _earn_ it."

Annie rolled her eyes, "Okay Odair," and took the single pointed spear. They made their way across the rock pools and into the shallows of the bay, where the water was very still. It was hard to believe that around the other side of the cliff face waves would regularly batter the shore. "So what now?"

Finnick held a finger to his lips, signalling her to be quiet. She felt that this was not the time to move either, so she stayed very still. They stood there very quietly for about five minutes, until the sea life which seemed invisible when they first entered the water began to reappear around them. The bottom of Annie's skirt was wet, but she paid no mind to it. She let it float in the water at her knees as she became entranced by everything that was appearing. Tiny schools of fish at first, but after these soon came a few silver fish, which while small, were still just large enough to be considered edible. She liked the way their scales –

The flash of a spear broke her reverie and as Finnick pulled it out of the water she saw one of the small fish sticking off the end.

"There," he grinned, carefully pulling the fish off the end of the spear. He waved it in her face and she cringed while batting his hands away.

"Stop it!" she cried with a laugh, the smell of raw fish wafting in front of her.

He kept grinning, the slightest bit lopsided. "Now you try."

"Just like that?" she asked.

"Just like that," he answered. "Just try to become a part of the water, if you feel like you have to move, move as a part of the ocean."

Annie nodded. She kept her spear poised, and waited. Waiting was what she was good at. A hush fell over them once more, and the only sounds were water lapping faintly near them, and the slightest sense of waves crashing in the distance. The fish began to reappear, and Annie was watching them all, deciding which one to aim for. It seemed like she had just decided on one, barely shifting to lift the spear, when they darted away. By the time she threw it down they were long gone.

Finnick was laughing at her. "Wow that seaweed looks delicious." True enough a few strips of the green plant were attached to the end of her spear.

"Hah, you're hilarious," she tried to make her sarcastic tone sting. It hadn't worked, he still looked amused. "Doesn't matter. You know, this'd be a lot easier with a net."

He nodded, "Yeah it would, that's how I was taught."

"And you decided to teach me the hard way?"

"Only because I knew you'd love a challenge."

Annie shook her head, "That's where you're wrong, I like to do things the proper way. How come you don't use a net?"

Finnick shrugged, "Don't need one. You saw that, didn't you?"

Annie thought for a moment, "But you'd still miss at times, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah I guess. Still that's only a few times. I don't see why I should use a net if I'm perfectly fine without."

Sure Finnick was talented, and good at catching fish with spears, but Annie recalled the few times she had seen young men spear fishing. She was pretty sure nearly all of the used a net. And that's when she saw it resurface, the slight arrogance in Finnick's nature, a child's arrogance but arrogance none the less. An old phrase came into her head. _Arrogance is the obstruction of wisdom_.

* * *

Annie had tried to catch a fish several more times but without success. _She probably would have kept trying all day,_ thought Finnick, who had told her to stop being stubborn and try again later. He caught another fish in a few minutes and they had made their way back to the shore, building a small fire the cook the fish. As Finnick gutted the fish and began to cook them, Annie continued with her bracelet. _Nearly done_ she thought with satisfaction.

"Annie?"

She looked up. Had he said something? "Sorry, what?"

"You weren't listening were you?" Finnick looked slightly amused.

Annie blushed, "No sorry I was…anyway what did you say?"

Finnick shook his head, "Nothing really, I was just saying how my dad keeps wanting me to go out on the boat with him to fish."

"And…?" Annie said.

"It's just annoying, that's all," he grumbled, "It smells from all the fish out there and you have to get up really early and stay out there for hours."

He sounded so childish with his complaints. "You're going to end up having to take over when you're grown up, you may as well get used to it Odair."

"I know," he snapped, then again, "I know," but softer. "I just hate that I'll have to do something that I don't want to for the rest of my life. I don't know how you do it."

"Do what?" she was confused, "I don't mind netting."

He shook his head, "Not just that. It's how you do everything, even if you have the choice."

Annie was quiet for a moment, "But I don't."

"Yes, you do," Finnick said.

"No," she said with finality, "I don't. No one's going to care what you wanna do so you might as well just do what you're asked."

This time Finnick was silent. Eventually he just said, "You know for someone so stubborn you're quite a pushover." But it wasn't meant to upset her. It was simply a quiet observation. Annie didn't answer. He took the fish from the leaves they were smoking on. "Here," he held out the fish. But when he turned he saw that she had gotten up and was walking away. He watched her go, almost at the hill; climbing the hill; out of sight.

_Stupid Odair_ she grumbled to herself. But she knew that in some part what he said was true. She didn't know what had annoyed her enough to walk away. Maybe it was that while Finnick could complain about things, she just did them. That's how it had been her whole life, arguing about these things was usually a waste of time.

* * *

Upon arriving home Annie immediately went into the kitchen, ravenous ever since the smell of cooking fish had caused her tastebuds to stir. She grabbed the last role and tore chunks of it, shoving them into her mouth, chewing quickly. Though slightly stale, the bread was still quite flavoursome. It would probably be a few more days until her family could afford to buy more, however, and it was done all too soon. She decided she would make her way to the stall, her Aunt could probably still use some help and she began to feel bad about her grandfather taking her place to do her jobs.

Before she was out the door, however, she heard noises coming from the living room. Annie walked in, finding her grandmother quietly sniffling and weeping on a chair with her head in her hands, while Ayla was biting her nails, her eyes glistening, but in better condition than Nonna. Her Aunt only just noticed her appearance, and rose to embrace her without saying a word.

"What…what happened?" Annie mumbled in confusion.

Ayla led her out of the room into the hallway, her expression pained. Her face grew red from trying to hold back crying.

"Oh Annie," she said. "It's your grandfather." Her voice cracked, "He fell." She then shook her head, unable to speak further, and let out a sob, once again embracing her niece, whose eyes quickly grew wet. Her grandma's howls of sorrow sounded from the other room. Annie understood, but it seemed impossible.

No more music in this house.

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**Yeah there's chapter two. I'd really appreciate any feedback, in regards to how the story is being written, pointing out any mistakes, etc. Are they too long? Too short? Just let me know, all constructive criticism welcome.**


	3. Chapter 3

**All feedback is adored and celebrated and loved and appreciated ever so greatly. I don't own the Hunger Games.**

* * *

**Chapter 3:**

Everything seemed to go downhill from that point onwards. The Cresta household became a bleak place and Annie struggled watching her dead grandfather's daughter and wife attempt to cope without his existence. She held a strong admiration for Ayla however, who had worked so hard to keep things going after both Annie's mother's death and no after her grandfather's death.

The stall kept running and there was food on the table each evening. But Nonna had retreated into a small shell and was nearly impossible to reach, and during the next week she hardly ate and often wept. She had taken on an old tradition and had removed all colour from her attire, wearing only black clothing all the time. Looking just at her, one would think that the world had been completely drained of all colour; white hair, black clothes, grey eyes –which to Annie had somehow lost any blue they may have possessed – and her skin was turning a sickly grey colour. Annie knew that now that her Nonno had died, a part of Nonna had died with him. The question was what life would be like without that part.

Annie spent the next couple of weeks repairing nets, serving in the stall, at school or weaving tapestries. She didn't go down to her bay, it didn't seem right to leave when there was always something to be done. Her grandmother needed lots of care now, as she didn't have the motivation to even eat without a reminder, and Ayla was too busy with everything else.

They had held a small funeral, just the three of them and a couple or her grandparents' old friends. They placed Nonno's now tiny looking body onto a simple float beautifully decorated with flowers and sea shells, and pushed him out to sea, his body set alight. Amidst all of her grief, Annie thought this was beautiful. _This is how he would like to be seen off_ she thought to herself. Her grandmother then quietly sang an old song from the sea while everyone stood in silence. That was the last time she would ever hear Nonna sing.

It was about two weeks after her grandfather's death, and was whistling a low, sombre tune to herself as she washed dishes. She shook her hands dry and went to get a towel for them, when a hand grabbed at her wrist.

"Don't," Nonna's voice croaked, her eyes full of sadness.

Annie nodded with wide eyes and remained silent.

"Go and play, girl," her grandmother said softly. The girl left without a word.

0000

During her mourning, Annie found it hard not to be fascinated by death. Morbid thinking for a twelve-year-old, yes, but when it hits someone so close to you it's hard not to ponder. It's such a strange thing, how a person can be here one moment, gone the next. So very, very strange. _Poor Nonno_, a tear leaked from her eye and she brushed it away quickly. There was to be no crying at the rock pools, this was a happy place.

And so she sat there, while the sunlight began to make the horizon glow to most beautiful, palest pink, and desperately tried not to weep over her grandfather's death. She stood after a short while as the sun was beginning to drop down towards the horizon. Another half hour of day was all that was left.

When she arrived home Annie was surprised by a figure sitting on the steps leading up to her front door. 13-year-old Finnick Odair looked up at her upon her arrival.

"Odair?" she said, caught off guard. She hadn't even thought of her new friend since…oh. "What are you doing here?"

He stood up, "Well I came to apologise, but no one was home." He cut her off before she could begin to speak. "I'm sorry Annie, you're not a pushover."

Annie looked at him for a few seconds, and then looked down. Her hands stung slightly, and she found that she had been picking at the skin around her fingers. "My grandfather died."

He was silent.

"But...thank you," she said, and gave him a small smile. "I didn't think you'd notice me not coming out anymore."

Finnick looked slightly surprised, "Of course I'd notice, we're friends, right?"

Annie smiled again, "Yeah." She said. "Right. I'll see you 'round, Finnick."

A peacekeeper walking passed glared at them, reminding them that curfew was soon to begin and being spotted on the streets by peacekeepers after it would be risky. But before he left, Finnick shoved something into her hands.

"Here, I finished it," he said, "You have it."

Annie put the bracelet on as soon as she was inside.

* * *

They met each other at the bay a couple days later, and played a game with a small woven ball filled with sand. Finnick showed Annie the way in which you were meant to keep hitting the small sack of sand up with your feet, knees and head without using your hands and without it touching the ground. Annie found it fun, but couldn't stop it from touching the ground for more than a few hits. This game went on for a long time, with Annie improving as it went along, if only slightly. The two then ventured into a small patch of nearby forest and found a fruit tree bursting with ripe fruit, climbing up to some of its highest branches to collect the best of it. Once they had picked as much as they could hold, they filled Annie's basket and made their way back to the beach, sitting near the rock pools to eat it.

They had barely spoken when Finnick asked, "Do you miss him?"

"Of course," Annie replied softly, her voice sounding ancient. She had always possessed this strange quality about her, that made her both childlike yet very mature for her age. "He'd always sing. He used to sing and tell me stories when I was little and take me to the beach and…" she trailed off. "I don't really remember my mother." She said out of the blue.

Finnick looked at her, surprised. "Nothing?"

Annie shook her head, "Barely. And they're probably just made up memories."

"What about your father?"

This was not a subject Annie wanted to talk about. "Never had a father. What about your mom?"

A smile crept onto Finnick's lips, "She was beautiful. She was always warm. She cooked really well. She was just…lovely." The fleeting smile disappeared as quickly as it had come.

"She sounds like it," she replied softly. "So now it's just you and your dad?"

Finnick shrugged, "Pretty much. My older brother moved out, he works on the boats most days, but I still see him when he visits."

It sounded quite lonely family wise. Annie was used to the four members of her family being crammed into their small house. She realised that her grandfather was the main life of this household, and that the quiet of the last few weeks probably wouldn't be temporary. She didn't like that.

"So what about your dad, Annie?" Finnick was too curious to drop the subject. He couldn't help it. He just really wanted to know. "Everyone has a dad."

"I don't," Annie replied. "He left my mother when she became pregnant with me. We don't talk about him. Soon after that he moved to another part of the district. So when she died, in the flood or hurricane or whatever they say hit here, my grandparents and auntie were left to raise me. They already lived together, so there wasn't really the option of going to the community home."

"That's terrible," Finnick said.

"No, it's not," Annie said with a shake of her head. "They're good people. Were…well still are. I don't know."

"Not that," he corrected, "I meant your dad. What sort of person does that?"

"Only the worst, I guess," Annie said with a smile that held absolutely no joy in it.

They lay down on the sand, eyes closed, tired from climbing and walking, and stuffed from all the fruit they had eaten. _It's nice having Annie as a friend_ Finnick decided. Maybe it was because of how honest she was, or how she didn't ask for anything, or how she was so good at listening. Most kids just yabbered on about themselves and silly things all day. Annie seemed to have a quiet intelligence about her, though it wasn't patronising. Or maybe she had just quickly learned to be less annoying. Who knows?

* * *

_3 months later…_

"Come on, please let me teach you?"

"No!"

"Why not?"

"Because I said I don't want to."

Finnick growled in frustration, "Dammit Annie Cresta, why do you have to be so stubborn?"

"Why do you?" her reply was quick.

Finnick gave up, as there was no arguing with this girl. Since meeting her, he'd decided that he was wrong about assuming she was a submissive pushover. _So very, _very_ wrong _he thought in annoyance.

"Swimming's a useful skill Annie," he stated in a rather matter-of-factly manner. "Plus I'm older than you, I know what's best."

She glared at him, for he knew full well that this made no difference with the two of them. "You're an idiot."

"An idiot who's two years older than you," he pointed out.

"Don't get cocky, I'll be thirteen in just a few months and then you'll only be a year older."

"Yes," he said slowly, "But for now you're only twelve. Gosh Annie I thought you were the smart one." He gave her a broad smile. "Please?" he pleaded.

"Don't smile at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you do when you want something," she said flatly. "I don't care if it works on nearly everyone else, it's not gonna work on me." She crossed her arms.

He rolled his eyes. "Why are you so difficult?"

"Don't talk to me about difficult, Odair."

"I'm sorry, _Cresta_." He grinned, his usual lopsided grin this time. This brought a small smile to Annie's face.

"I'll wade in with you to the shallows," she said.

Finnick sighed, _good enough,_ he thought. They waded in together. This particular beach had a sandy rock bed that stretched out some feet before coming to a sudden drop. They went in, toes first, walking further; ankle deep; shins; knee deep.

"My dress is going to get wet," Annie complained when she stopped.

The look Finnick gave her made her feel ridiculous. "Suit yourself then." And he went forward a few more steps, to where the water nearly reached his hips, and then with another step he walked off the drop, into the deep water. Annie observed him as he swam: he looked like a sea creature, sometimes diving for over a minute before resurfacing, his golden body doing flips and turning in the water.

She wondered what he saw down there.

And suddenly she was tired of merely watching, listening to or singing songs about the ocean. No, Annie wanted to be a part of it.

"Finnick!" she called out when he had next resurfaced. He turned to face her, treading water.

"Yeah Cresta?" he could sense his victory already, but Annie didn't bother wondering if the display that made swimming seem like so much fun was for her benefit. Besides, their bay had no waves; no crushing destructive forcing; just blue green wash gently lapping at the shore.

"Teach me how to swim?"

He grinned.

"I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

**Yeah. Let me know what you think. Before we get into all the horribleness and despair of the games I just want to indulge myself in some niceness and such when writing. Tell me if I should just give up or continue writing. The next chapter will be up soon, as I'm trying to update weekly. I wrote a lot in the holidays and usually make sure to have one chapter spare before I post, god knows what school will do to me.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed! Really it provides so much motivation to write more. School started again a few days ago, but I'll be updating at least once a week. This is the shortest chapter yet but they won't be getting any shorter I promise. Feedback is revered. I don't own THG.**

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**Chapter 4:**

Impulse had caused Annie to speak, but now the only thing stopping her from changing her mind back was pride. Learn to swim? Where, in all of Panem, had this thought suddenly come from? _Too much time with the Odair boy_, she thought, _Soon you'll be as crazy as he is. _Nevertheless she stood perfectly still in the water, waiting patiently but not without anxiety as Finnick paddled over slowly. The longer she stood out here, the more things she noticed as her senses came alive. The smell of the pure, salty water, the way the sunlight would dance on it, the way she could constantly feel it moving in and around her feet and legs.

"Don't tell me you're nervous already, Cresta?" Finnick had been underwater right up until the point where he surfaced right in front of her, his eyes flickering to where her hands were. Before his words registered, she thought of how the way his eyes flickered perfectly matched the light on the ocean. Only for a second, but in every way right down to the colour. This thought disappeared when she was reminded of the stinging in her fingers and looked down to where she'd been subconsciously picking.

"With you as a teacher, who's to say I'm not going to drown?" she said back, and splashed him lightly.

He splashed her back, "You should be grateful, I'm the only one who's willing to put up with you long enough to do it. Now come here."

Annie obeyed, wading towards him. The water reached her hips now, there was no longer any use in worrying about her dress.

"What now?" she asked.

"First thing's first," Finnick began, "You'll learn to float on your back. Don't worry, I'll keep you afloat for the start, it's just to get used to the feeling of it."

Annie nodded, and slowly let herself into the water. With Finnick's hand on her back, she leaned back the whole way. It was a strange feeling, so weightless. She found that there was no real way to explain what she was doing, swimming, as it was more instinctual and done by feeling. The water covered her ears, blocking or muffling out all the usual sounds. For a second, when she closed her eyes, Annie felt a moment of peace. _This isn't so bad,_ she thought to herself. But then Finnick moved his hands away, the hands keeping her afloat. Despite doing it carefully and gently, Annie was reminded of the feeling of being alone in the ocean, where waves can break your neck and and where she was nearly swallowed and killed as a child. She flailed, losing her composure completely, gasped while under water, and then ungracefully thrashed about until she could feel the sand underneath her feet. She stood there, coughing and spluttering, throat and nostrils stinging.

Finnick didn't know whether to be concerned or burst out laughing. She had looked ridiculous, but the fear in her eyes the moment his hands had left her back was so intensely real, he held his tongue. In spite of this, Annie was eyeing him scornfully.

"It's not funny," she exclaimed with a cough.

"I'm not laughing," Finnick said in surprise, for he wasn't, but after this outburst he was close to it.

"You are on the inside," she glared at him, but her next bout of coughing was mixed with laughter. "I really thought I had it."

"I did too," he admitted, "That's why I let go. Do you want to take a break?"

Annie shook her head, the terror of her memory gone as quickly as it had come. "No, let's try again."

The corner of Finnick's mouth twitched, "Why would I even ask?"

They did the same thing as last time, only after about a minute of Annie treading water on her back, Finnick pulled his hand away. Slower, this time, and not without warning. Annie didn't flail, no terror of getting lost in this abyss caused a sense of panic. Instead she remained treading the water lightly, and keeping afloat with ease. This was not difficult, and it was not scary. It was simple and pure just like the water which surrounded her. After about a minute Finnick tapped her arm gently and her eyes opened. She stood up and faced him, any thoughts about her soaking wet clothing forgotten.

"You can float now," Finnick said, "That's the easy part though. Come on, you've got a lot of catching up to do if you're going to be as good as me."

Normally this would incite a smart remark back, but Annie did not bother. Instead, without speaking, she took his outstretched hand and they waded deeper still.

* * *

They met nearly every day for the next week and in that time, Annie had learned the basics of how to swim. Despite the fact that she could not yet swim very far and could still find it hard to tread water for very long at all, Annie had nonetheless picked it up quickly. She gained a quick appreciation for being underwater. She loved the way her hair would all part and float in a cloud around her, the way everything sounded, the feeling of weightlessness, and especially how the light looked when it shone through the surface of the water in a white blur. If it weren't for her body letting her down with it's constant need for oxygen, she could stay down there for hours.

She resurfaced, gasping for air.

"You ok?" Finnick had swum over to her in a second.

"Yeah," she puffed, trying to get her breath back. "I just run out of air quickly." She paddled over to the drop, which she had only recently conquered, and stood up on the rock shelf.

"That'll get easier in time," Finnick promised, "So will treading water. You've just got to be patient." He said with a smirk.

"Then it's a good thing I'm the one learning," Annie said, "And not you." She began wringing out her hair. It was a warm day though so it wouldn't be a problem for it to dry. "I'm gonna go dry off. Are you coming?"

Finnick waved her off, "In a minute." And dove under. She turned to go to the shore without him.

He resurfaced, and lay floating on his back for a few minutes, eyes closed, the sun warming his face. Each day that he spent with Annie, she seemed to become less like the strange girl he had first met, and more like someone he could - almost - understand. She was less puzzling, less tedious, less stubborn - well okay, less puzzling at least.

* * *

A month had passed, and on this particular day Finnick and Annie decided to wander in the other direction. They went away from their bay, past their homes, past the busy centre and markets and main bay and beaches, to just past the docks. With them they brought a few small rolls of bread, two fishing rods, a net and some bait, and spent hours sitting on some large rocks, waiting for the fish to bite. They didn't talk much, just sat in each other's company. Annie mended nets for her aunt's stall that she had brought with her, Finnick whistled quietly under his breath and Annie showed him various types of knots.

"You always have to keep your hands busy," Finnick remarked quietly. Annie didn't answer and they both kept knotting.

Finally she simply replied with, "Yeah. Don't know why." Over, under, twist left and loop.

Tension began to form in the air, as both their minds went to the one thing neither of them wanted to talk about. A mandatory television viewing which had aired that morning, not long before they had met. Finnick was first to break.

"Did you..." he began slowly. Words escaped him, and he could only finish with "This morning?"

Of course she did, they all did.

Annie nodded, her throat was tight. The thought of that one 30 second segment had managed to make her chest and entire body tighten. Her hands shook slightly, fingers fumbled, she lost the knot she was trying to form and instead tangled the twine.

"Crap," she muttered under her breath, and set the rope aside. "Seven days until the reaping."

The words came out of her mouth and her hands continued trembling slightly. She became conscious of digging into her fingers with her short, heavily bitten nails, but did nothing to stop it. She would have made her fingers bleed further if not for Finnick setting his rope down, reaching out to lay one hand on hers, and with the other take her net and put it into her hands. It was all her could do for her for now.

"You'll be fine, ok?" he said, then felt the need to add, "We both will."

This was for his own benefit, though.

He went on, "It's your first reaping Annie, your name's only in there once, ok?"

She nodded, but it was doing no good. "And your name's in there three times, but it's enough. One is all it takes Finn, what if I get picked, what if _you_ get picked?"

Annie regretted saying this immediately, Finnick was doing a good job at trying to keep calm, why would she say something to make him nervous?

Finnick's stomach knotted up, but he held it together. If he began to panic, Annie would be in no better state. "We won't," he said soothingly.

"But what if we do?"

"But we won't."

"But _what if we do?"_

"Someone would volunteer."

"What if they don't?"

"But they would."

"But what if"-

Annie couldn't speak anymore. "Sorry," she said. She had nearly completely lost it.

"It's alright," Finnick replied quietly, "Now knot."

Neither of them paid attention to one of the rods when it began to bend with the weight of a catch. They just kept tying.

* * *

**Let me know what you think? It was a slightly shorter chapter but anywhere upwards of 1,500 is alright for me, I don't know. Reviews are so very, very greatly loved and appreciated, as are all the alerts/favourites.**


	5. Chapter 5

**I keep doing this thing where I post the chapter, read through it, realise it sucks, delete it then rewrite the worst bits. This happened several times haha.**

**Oh my god you reviewers are amazing thank you so much, seriously I want to hug each of you. Every time I get a review I do this stupid little squeal and dance and get way too excited. I'm updating every few days which is probably going to wane slightly these coming weeks, as I have half yearly exams coming up soon and maths assessments etc :O shock horror. Updates will be weekly at the very least though.**

**I'm finding that this is more something that I really want to do and enjoy doing, so it's not a chore. Hopefully it stays that way and reflects in the writing. I don't own the Hunger Games.**

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**Chapter 5:**

The week leading up to the reaping passed in such an unbearable manner that Finnick found it difficult to contain his frustration. The days seem to drag on and on, as if to tauntingly say, _not yet, you still have to wait, it isn't time._ Then at the end of the day when he rested his head against his pillow his stomach would wrench when he realised what a waste the day had been and how quickly it had gone. He was spending more time on his father's boat than he would have liked to, casting nets and waiting and feeling like the smell of fish guts would never leave him. This was no enjoyable fishing trip, but an insanely early morning job with the sole aim of meeting the Capitol's quota, while also catching enough fish to keep business going within the town.

It was simple - if you didn't meet your quota, you didn't get paid. And they would take all of your catch regardless of whether or not you were only a gram under what was required. There was so much pressure to keep from going hungry, so much tedious, tiring and time consuming work. Apart from Sundays and Mondays, when his father's boat was not required to meet any quota for the Capitol and fished purely for local business, Finnick loathed the work. Yet this was to be his future. It didn't seem fair. It was his reminder that he was growing up. By sixteen, it would not be surprising if like some he had stopped school entirely and had to work nearly every morning on the boat.

And there was all the more work to be done it seemed with the Games approaching, as throughout the Capitol there were no doubt hundreds of celebrations and parties going on. He finally got his rest from fishing on the Monday, and without hesitation after eating his breakfast wandered into the market place, where much of this sector of the district would be. He caught sight of Annie at her Aunt's stall.

She saw him and stood up, a warm smile creeping onto her face as she called, "Finnick!"

He barely began to say her name when all of a sudden he was surrounded.

"Finnick!" three boys Finnick's age strode over from nearby before he reached the stall. One of them glanced over at Annie from a few metres away but ignored her.

She immediately sat down and lowered her eyes back to the knots she was fixing and felt intense embarrassment. Finnick probably hadn't looked at her, she hadn't heard from him in days, of course he would be meeting the friends he now so rarely sees. She heard them talking and laughing and joking in their easy conversation. There was so much joy for a time so bleak, right before reaping day. She stole a look up to the boys, including Finnick's best friend Roger, who looked like they were just about to leave. At the back of the group, Finnick looked back at her. He wasn't sure what to do, smile, wave, what? He gave a stupid short smile which he immediately regretted with guilt. The one Annie returned had no warmth in it, it looked forced and she looked nervous. Her eyes looked almost happy but the smile did not reach them.

When he turned and walked away, Annie's disappointment surprised her. _Stupid_, she thought, _you were the stupid one in the end._ And negative thoughts festered at her brain for the next hour.

* * *

Finnick and his friends wandered down to a small but popular jetty not far away, right on the main beach. Everyone seemed to have forgotten their troubles, but Finnick could not help but think about what the night would be like for everyone in the country, himself included. This fun and laughter could not be long enjoyed. Once they reached the jetty, they all stripped to swimming shorts and jumped into the water, doing flips and diving deep underneath. Finnick tired quickly of this, his mind preoccupied, and sat on the jetty, his feet dangling off the edge and the sun drying and tanning his golden skin furthermore. He and Annie hadn't really had an agreement to meet that day, so why did he feel guilty for going off with his friends instead? Was it guilt or disappointment? _Dammit, Cresta._

Laughter broke through his thoughts, and he noticed a couple of his friends gathering around him. Roger, dark haired and eyed, and Rhett, with blond hair and eyes so grey they seemed nearly void of colour, sat down either side of him. "Finnick's thinking about other things, aren't you Finnick?" Roger slapped him on the back lightly.

"Yeah, kind of," he mumbled, still not completely with it.

"What's on your mind?" Roger asked.

"Reaping and that," he replied. "Maybe the third time isn't so lucky." Of course he wasn't going to say Annie.

Roger nodded sombrely, "Have you been training?"

Finnick nodded. "A bit," he confessed. He'd been swimming and running to try and build up his strength some afternoons, and trying to throw his trident further still. He had managed a few metres more than his usual distance with accuracy as well, which was something at least.

"Planning to volunteer?" Rhett joked. Of course he wouldn't.

Finnick laughed, but his laugh was hollow. "Yeah, sure."

"You sure it was the reaping you were thinking of, Finnick?" Jak called out from in the water. "We haven't been seeing you much lately."

Finnick knew where this was going.

"I've been on the boat, haven't been at school much," he tried to explain.

"We all have," Roger added, trying to save Finnick from much embarrassment. "Or helping with business, there's been less time to meet up." Roger's father supplied bait and tackle, but still he had to spend a small amount of time on some of the boats.

"Yeah, well, he still looked a bit too happy to be thinking about the reaping," Jak went on, "Sure you weren't thinking of that Cresta girl, what's her name?"

"Annie," he replied, too quickly. "And no." He added hastily.

"Of course not, what's the deal there anyway?"

"We're just friends, what do you think?"

This time Rhett joined in teasingly, "I dunno Finnick…"

"Whatever," Finnick muttered. _Of course he and Annie were just friends_, he thought with irritation. He pushed Rhett into the water who, caught unawares, arose spluttering.

* * *

Later in the afternoon they all went their separate ways, Finnick walking back with Roger. He was surprised by how different things had become in the last 6 months. They were older; both had grown, started working, and seemed to have aged a few years. Add the fact that they saw less of each other as opposed to seeing each other for hours every day.

After walking in comfortable silence for some time, Roger broke in, "So, is it true?"

"Is what true?"

"You know Finnick."

"Not you too," he sighed in exasperation. "Really Roger?"

"Answer the question." Why did age always have to add extra implications about things?

"No, we're just friends."

"Honest?"

"Honest," Finnick confirmed. _And she understands._ The thought came from nowhere.

"And?"

"And nothing, that's it I _swear_," Finnick said with certainty. He stopped walking.

"Are you coming?" Roger turned.

Finnick shook his head, "I'm gonna stop by the markets, I didn't get to see anything before you guys came and tackled me."

Why was even bothering lying to Roger? It just made what his friends thought he and Annie were seem more likely. Which it wasn't, he should have just said he was going to find Annie.

"Ok then," his friend still looked amused. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Finnick nodded, and they both walked away.

* * *

It was nearing closing time now, lunch had come and gone, as had the people who had previously crowded the busy square. The markets were in an enormous under cover building a block away from District 4s. It was supported by cement pillars and had many open entrances, but many stalls lined these. Finnick wandered in somewhat hastily, hopefully Annie wouldn't have gone home yet and he could still see her. _Its reaping day tomorrow_, he thought, and realised that if he or Annie were to be reaped (unlikely, but still) he would want to see her one more time.

_Talk about good timing_, Annie thought as Finnick hurried towards her. She smiled again, a little more guarded. She and her aunt were just leaving.

"Hey Annie," he finally managed his greeting from that morning. It took him a second to remember his manners before he looked over to the woman standing next to Annie. She wasn't very big, not much taller than Annie, and Finnick was taller than her. "Hi," he said slowly, trying to think how to address her, "Miss Cresta, I'm Finnick, Annie's friend."

The woman looked amused at being addressed so formally.

"Aunt Ayla, this is Finnick, Finnick, this is my Aunt." Annie explained.

"Call me Ayla," she said to Finnick, "And it's nice to finally meet you." She said this warmly, but the use of the word _finally_ caused Annie to flush. It gave the implication that Annie talked of Finnick often, which was an exaggeration. She couldn't have mentioned Finnick to her Aunt more than two or three times.

Finnick seemed not to notice, "You too."

Annie didn't wait for awkward silences to ensue. "Do you need help carrying anything back?" she asked.

Ayla waved her off, "You go, just be back for dinner. I'll see you later." With a slightly amused expression, she picked up a crate and began walking home without delay. She wasn't the sort of woman to interfere with things. She had learned, mostly through trial and error, to mother Annie. But still she never felt like the girl's mother. She had to be though, because without a father either who was going to play the disciplining role of parent? Annie's grandmother used to be so good at that.

* * *

They walked down to a beach, the sun was nearly setting on the horizon and everything about the scene seemed peaceful, from the gentle rumble of the ocean and the gulls crying out in the distant sky, to the gentle breeze which lightly chilled their skin. But they knew better. They were only teenagers, yet they knew better. The whole of Panem did. Tomorrow they would be herded like cattle. In a few weeks at least one of two District 4 kids selected at the reaping, and probably both, would be dead. It could be them. They sat down.

"Annie," Finnick began, not knowing what he was going to say. Was he apologising? "Sorry about, you know, this morning."

Annie looked up in surprise, _he's apologising?_ She thought. "No, you don't have to be, I had stuff to do. You were just at the market meeting your friends, I was just saying hi any"-

Finnick interrupted her, "No Annie, I came to find you." The rising tide was approaching their feet. The sun sunk lower still.

Annie blurted, "Why?"

Finnick looked at her like she was stupid, "You're my friend Cresta, obviously." Then added in a slightly hushed tone, just saying it really, not even directing the comment towards her. "Reaping's tomorrow."

She nodded. "We'll be fine." She was the calm one this time. The look he gave her gave away all of his worried and concerns. Despite being a fourteen year old that looked sixteen, his eyes betrayed those of a child. "_We will."_ But her voice was not so certain.

Annie drew her knees into her chest, and Finnick leaned back onto his hands. They sat with arms touching, with nothing to say to the other that would stop the fear.

"I'm scared, Finn," she whispered. The sun had nearly set.

"Me too," he admitted. "Annie, I just wanted to say thanks for being my friend, you know, just in case"-

"Just in case nothing," she said stubbornly, "We'll be fine, Odair," and gave him a wry smile.

"Ok then Cresta," but he couldn't bring himself to smile. He was quiet for a long time. "I miss being a kid." He said simply.

Annie looked at him. She replied, "You still are a kid. I'm a kid. Your friends are kids. Everyone in the reaping is a kid, not just here, everywhere. The giants from two who jump to volunteer, they're kids as well. But being a kid isn't the same as it used to be, they've taken that away. That's what my Nonno would say, that's what he told me once. We never had that promise of a safe future."

Finnick considered this. "We're not, though," then added, "If what you're saying is true, we never were, were we?"

Annie said nothing, for he was right. "I guess you're right."

He went on, "But we're not adults, are we?"

Annie shook her head, "I don't think so."

"So what are we then?" he looked at her.

Annie shrugged, "Lost, I guess."

Finnick had no answer to this. It seemed the only way to sum up everything he was thinking about. As the sun and horizon met, they both tried to ignore the fact that this could be the very last day they spend together.

* * *

**So what did you think? Please review, I love knowing what everyone thinks is good/bad. Thanks for reading/favouring/commenting and I'll try to update soon.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Lack of reviews kills me. I do not own the Hunger Games.**

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**Chapter 6:**

Years ago, when Annie had first learned to read, she had obtained an obsession with books. She loved the way they felt, their musty smell, the stories which could make the passing hours seem like minutes. It all fascinated her. Her Nonno had told her that books weren't even very common before the rebellion, when he was a child. The District had apparently had a small library though, which was a home for the sacred treasures. He said it had burned though, along with the few thousand books it held. No new books were printed since then, at least in the District, nor were they imported. Nonno had his own personal collection, and while small, Annie had never seen so many books like that in her whole life. Her school of course had books, but they were flimsy and their stories nowhere near as enthralling. These books were 'Capitol certified', and were the ones the Capitol thought would be most of use to them. They were mostly educational and mostly about fishing. But her Nonno's books…. _Beautiful_, she had thought, _that's the word for them_. Their covers were leather bound and their pages rough and yellowing.

Nonna used to scoff at them, "Books won't put food on the table." She would say.

Nonno would give Annie a knowing smile and wink at her. She liked this for it was as though she and her grandfather had a special secret between them that no one else understood. Books were important. Books were powerful. Books were precious.

Annie was only seven, so when she had found she could reach up to one of the higher shelves, holding books she was not supposed to read, she could not help herself. She drew down one with a soft, hard, deep green cover. The front didn't have any writing on it, just fine gold imprinting around the border. The spine held the title, pressed with the same gold writing, "_Tales from the Edge of the Earth and Beyond_". A book of short stories, it was entirely harmless. And it was so beautifully bound, so well cared for compared to other books that she had read (or tried to read, some were practically falling apart in her hands), that she couldn't resist. She sat down right there on the floor next to her grandmother and grandfather's bed, underneath the book case and cracked open the cover. Cautiously, of course, who knows if it's going to come off or if the pages are even attached? She lets out a breath. The book is in great condition on the inside as well. She looks at the inside cover and reads a short note:

_Alexander,_

_May this book bring you hours of joy and delight._

_Love Nonna._

She didn't know who Alexander was, a distant relative probably. It must go back a long way, she didn't think that she had any great Uncles called Alexander. He must be long gone, a relative of Nonno's. She turned the pages to the index, and found that it listed between fifteen and twenty short stories. She covered the titles with her hand and picked a page number at random. Flipping through the books, she quickly found it. A story called "_The Reaper"._

The story spoke of a man who feared death so much that he tricked the gods and stole and drunk a potion called 'The elixir of life'. The gods, enraged by being fooled, devised a plan. They offered the man two options: one, die now in his young body, or two, to live forever but continue aging as though he had never drunk the elixir. The man, so relieved at being given the chance at living forever, accepted the second option without question. He continued living to an immense age, until his body was bent and disfigured and wrinkled and scarred and he could barely even move. The man no longer wanted to live and he realised that he should have accepted death years ago, for this was no life. He begged the gods to let him die, but they refused him, having never been able to recover the elixir that they too depended on for eternal life. In his desperation he attempted to take his own life. He was driven to madness by the fact that no amount of poison, burning or drowning could kill him. He even tried to cut off his own feet, but even when all the blood had been drained from his body all he had lost was the ability to walk, not his life.

Finally, the gods took pity on the man, but with their powers weakened by lack of the elixir, could not make him die. They could only bring him half way to death. They too were close to dying, no longer immortal beings, and could not fulfil their duties of helping the living pass over. They gave the man a robe to cover his disfigured and ancient body and the task which they could no longer fulfil. He was given the new name of Grim, and it was now his job to reap the lives of the living (and dying). The gods died, and now all that was left was the man and his task: to take those more fortunate than him to their deaths.

Annie knew soon after starting that this was no child's storybook, but she could not stop. She was compelled to read on and was young enough to remain confused, but old enough to be somewhat disturbed by it. Guiltily, she went to close the book and put it back, but it was too late. Her grandmother saw her and came up to her quickly to see what she was reading. She took the book from her, opened up to the frightening story of the man who had cheated death, and a look of horror came to her face.

Nonna yelled at her, pushing her out of the room. "Who told you that you could read this? Out! Out!"

Alerted by the shouts, Nonno came into the room and Annie rushed past him.

"What's going on?" he asked her grandmother.

"This," she held up the book, open at the page with a picture of a hooded figure with no feet, "Is what's going on! What sort of thing is this for her to read? She's only seven!"

She yelled a bit more, but Annie didn't listen. Instead and went and sat in her room, waiting for a lecture when her Nonna was done with Nonno. It never came. In fact, none of them ever spoke of the story again. Of course, Annie went looking for it out of curiosity, but the book had disappeared.

* * *

_It's like the weather is mocking us_ Finnick thought to himself. He had risen not long after dawn, and the sun was a blanket of light on his face as it shone through his grimy, east-facing window.

Today.

It's _today_.

At midday.

The reaping.

Today.

He pulled himself out of bed. There was absolutely no need for him to stay there. He went to the kitchen where his father was sitting, trying to prepare breakfast. This was an unusual sight as his father was usually still out on the boat in the mornings. Of course, there wouldn't be any work that day. It was reaping day.

Finnick could tell his father and he both wanted to speak, but what was there to say? What could they say to one another to make this day easier? There was nothing, nothing to be said. They ate their bread in silence, and Finnick's father silently placed an orange on the table and began carefully quartering it and putting it on a plate. He pushed the whole plate over to Finnick, who took one piece and pushed the rest back to his father, who shook his head.

"It's for you."

Oranges were rare and expensive, but Finnick didn't argue. He ate it in silence, savouring it, and cleared his things away. He then went to his room and put on his reaping clothes. A clean, light blue collared dress shirt, dark grey pants and polished black shoes. He only ever wore these things for the reaping. To his surprise, he found that none of it fit, except the shirt which had always been big and baggy on him. It fit him just right now.

"Dad?" he walked out into the kitchen where his father was. He turned to see his son dressed in pants too short for him which came up way past his ankle, and would have laughed at the sight if this were any other day. But it wasn't. All he could do was a small, genuine smile.

"You've grown," he said with small amusement, and disappeared into his own bedroom for a second. He emerged with new pants and shoes, his own supposedly, which his son had never seen before. He handed them to his son. "These ought to fit. Might be just a little bit long, if your mother was…she could…" he trailed off. Finnick knew his father found it difficult still to mention his wife, and he took the clothes and went to put them on. He was almost as tall as his father now, so the fit should be alright.

As he was getting dressed again, his conversation with Annie a week ago came into his mind. District Four was not as well known at One and Two for having volunteers. It wasn't a yearly thing. Most of the older kids trained, but that was more as a precaution. There were a few, a crazy (and desperate) few, who had little to lose and everything to gain if they won. Over the years, however, if a tribute from the district suffered a particularly terrible death one year, then it was highly unlikely there would be volunteers the next. He can't help thinking, _What if I'm picked, and there are no volunteers?_

What if Annie gets picked?

* * *

Polished shoes. Pretty dresses. Dress shirts. Fear. Sweat. Frantic eyes trying not to cry. Watching from the sidelines is hard enough, but being in the reaping is a whole new thing. Annie is terrified, completely and utterly. This is what cattle must feel like. She suddenly feels stupid in her lilac coloured dress and wants to tear it to shreds and rip off the stupid bow on the back. They're dressing up to get killed! It all feels _so wrong_. _Because it is, _she thinks. _How on earth can they think this is ok? How blind must the Capitol be?_

The urge to run fills her body, and she feels the throb of adrenaline running through her veins. And it's so hard to stop herself from doing so. She's barely conscious, running on subconscious movements. Finally when they take her blood and she feels the prick in her finger, something happens and she comes to her senses. _Breathe_ she tells herself,_ and don't throw up_. Her focus comes back to her and she is conscious of where she is, standing with the other girls her age. She looks over to the boys section and it takes her a while to find Finnick where he is standing. Their eyes lock. He was already looking at her for about a minute.

"Breathe," she mouths to him. He nods, and points to his fingers and shakes his head. Annie looks down, her hands are shaking and she found that she's even torn a small bit of skin from one of her nails out, so that it's bleeding now. She clenches her jaw and holds her thumb over it to stop the blood and nods at Finnick.

Everything has gone silent and Annie is aware of every single noise around her; the grinding of her teeth, the very quiet ringing of an unoccupied microphone; someone is sniffling nearby and the girl next to her keeps clenching her skirt with her fingers.

"Welcome everyone!" the cheeriness of Selesta Amersee's literally makes Annie want to throw up. She looks around the square. Peacekeepers are everywhere. Behind all of the children, parents and siblings and families stand in a crowd. The stage which has been set up in front of the Justice Building holds only a few people. Mags and Tarkin, the two mentors, sit on the stage, along with the mayor. Selesta looks ridiculous, with a coral orange smock and bright green hair tied up at the very top of her head. Add her blue skin into the equation and looking at her reminds you of a child who drew a picture, but then didn't have the right coloured pencils.

After the video played, the same propaganda rubbish (as Nonna would say) that was played every year, Selesta did not delay.

"Now, I know everyone is just as excited as I am to select the tributes."

Oh Selesta, really?

"So let us begin," she says with an enormous smile, which may have been meant as charming but came across as menacing. Annie held her breathe. Little did she know that Finnick was holding his breathe right now as well.

Everything was silent except for the sound of Selesta's heels on the ground as she crossed over to the reaping bowl. She pulled out a name. _Is it mine? It's mine, isn't it?_ Annie thought.

Selesta cleared her throat, "Dana Burns!" She called into the microphone.

A girl with light chestnut brown hair walked through the crowd. She must have been around seventeen, and she looked fit maybe, but not very strong. No one volunteered and she stood on the stage. Her face looked completely void of all emotion. Finnick didn't realise that he'd been holding his breathe and exhaled. His breathing started to return to normal. Annie wasn't picked, she was-

"Finnick Odair!"

What? No. It couldn't be him, Annie fought to hold in a cry. Finnick swallowed hard and composed himself. _Show _no_ weakness_ was the thought going through his mind. He walked up to the stage, almost strutting, trying to wipe his face of all emotions. He was pleased to look up at the screens and see himself looking much, _much_ more confident than he felt.

Annie looked up at him from the crowd. After shaking hands, he and Dana stood there while the Anthem played. He didn't look at her once, except right at the end, just as the cameras turned off. His eyes looked sad for a moment, and he was taken into the Justice building.

There was no longer any urge to cry, no urge to run. All Annie wanted to do was scream.

* * *

Finnick was ushered into a room in the Justice Building. It was quite exquisite, with heavy blue velvet curtains and enormous wooden doors and bronze door handles and elaborate artwork. There were a few heavily stuffed armchairs, and he took a seat in one, his legs buckling and no longer able to hold his weight. The doors burst open and Roger came in. None of his other friends were with him.

Finnick gave a small smile, "Hey."

Roger stayed standing, "Hey."

There was an awkward silence.

"The others…" Roger trailed off.

"Yeah," Finnick said, "I know. It's hard sending your friend off to die."

Roger looked at him intently, "You can win, Finnick."

Finnick scoffed, looking down with a bitter smile and shaking his head. "No, Roger, I can't."

Roger looked so determined as he said, "Yes, yes you can! You're smart and you're strong, okay? You can do this. Get your hands on a trident, or a spear. You've got good aim. Just don't get cocky. I'll see you when you get back." Finnick could almost believe him. He gave his shoulder a light squeeze and said no more, walking out without looking back.

His father was the next to visit him. He looked broken and lost for words, and pulled his son into an embrace as soon as he walked in and held him tightly.

"Remember son, I'm proud of you," he said quietly, "You can do this."

"I know," Finnick replied, equally as quietly.

His father stopped hugging him and put both hands on his shoulders, looking him in the eyes. "Be _careful_, Finnick. Just be careful. Come back to me, my son." Finnick nodded and his father pulled him into another hug before being told by the peacekeepers he had to leave. Finnick sat back down.

Last to visit was Annie. She walked in tentatively, slipping in through the doorway instead of opening it all the way. He looked at her and stood up, and she stood standing from across the room. She didn't say anything, she couldn't speak.

"It's not like you to be lost for words, Cresta," Finnick tried to joke. His eyes were swimming with all the sadness and fear and uncertainty in the world.

Annie walked across the room quickly and hugged him, not wanting to let go. _Snap out of it, you can't break down, he's the one who got reaped._ She fought back tears and pulled away from him.

"Finnick, just…" she searched for words, "Just come home, ok? You can win this, you_ deserve_ to win this. Come back in one piece, ok?"

"I'll try," he promised.

"No," she said. "You'll do it, you hear me?"

He nodded. "I'll do it."

"And Finn," she added, "You're a good person, ok? You're a good friend and you're a good person. Don't be arrogant. Don't let them…" she didn't know how to finish. Don't let them…what? Change him? He was about to murder other children, of course he would be changed. "You know?"

He nodded.

"Annie, I just wanted to say thank you," Finnick said, "For being my friend. Just in case…"

"No Finn. No. Just in case of nothing."

She hastily untied the bracelet he had given her, the one that she had taught him to make. She shoved it into one of his hands, squeezing the other lightly with her free hand and letting go quickly. Green eyes met green, both filled with uncertainty. The reaper had come, and they might never see each other again. They hugged once more briefly and Annie walked away quickly. Her lip had begun quivering as soon as she turned away from him.

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**End chapter six. I'm really sorry if it's bad, feel free to point out any flaws or mistakes. So what did you think? Let me know, reviews really help me know if I'm on track.**


	7. Chapter 7

**You people that favourited/alerted/commented the story are receiving all my love. Really thank you, it means so much when I'm putting so much time into writing :) Also I'm really surprised that I've been updating several times a week, to be honest I thought I'd only end up doing it like once a week. Might try just making it Friday updates so I have time to really perfect the story.**

**I do not own the Hunger Games.**

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**Chapter 7:**

After saying goodbye to Finnick, Annie walked out of the Justice Building. She walked away from the town square, to the beach. She kept walking along the beach, but her anxiety would not calm itself. She broke into a run, and began running, her feet flying, her thoughts muddled. She ran along the shore, to the hill marking the bay she and Finnick would often visit. She scrambled up the hill and ran down again. It didn't feel right to be here though. The place felt too full of good times. She continued running, to the other side of their small bay. There was another hill there and she ran up and down it as it was not as steep as the first one. She ran blindly along the beach there, which was completely deserted. The forest was too dense to build houses and it was too far from town for anyone to live there. When she felt she could run no more, she slowed, panting heavily, clutching her stomach. She stumbled into the water and once the water reached her thighs she dropped to her knees, put her head underwater, and screamed.

It felt so good to finally indulge in this one act, to release all of her emotions, her anger and fury and sadness and despair over losing her best and only friend to these cruel games. She lifted her head out of the water, gasped in air, and went under yet again, letting it all out again.

She did this two more times, screaming with all her might, when she finally felt she had had enough. She got up and walked out of the water, her lilac dress soaking wet. Annie wringed her hair, exhausted, her breathing returning back to normal, and after a few moments began the walk home, a trip which would end up taking her nearly an hour.

* * *

It all happened so quickly. Annie was safe, his name was called out, he and Dana shook hands, and he said his goodbyes and they were soon on the train. The two tributes sat in silence. There was nothing to talk about. All they could think about were how slim their chances of survival were and the least painful way to die.

_No_ Finnick pushed this thought out of his head. He had to believe in his mind that he could win, that he _would_ win. Alec believed in him, his father and Annie believed in him. He needed to go home. It couldn't end like this.

Selesta blabbered on about some things that neither he nor Dana would have cared about. Finnick wasn't listening, instead he stared out the window as the unfamiliar landscape flew past him.

A throat was cleared.

Finnick's eyes flickered lazily from the scenery back to Dana and Selesta.

"Sorry, what?" he snapped back into reality.

"I was just asking if you wanted to see the mentors now…" Dana trailed off, "You know, to talk tactics and whatnot."

"Uh, yeah, sure," Finnick complied.

"Well, I'll go fetch them shall I?" Selesta said with another beaming grin and walked into the other carriage.

Her skirt restricted her legs greatly so in any other situation her waddle of a walk and tiny baby steps would seem amusing. But it wasn't any other situation. They were here, now, and a horrible thought came into Finnick's mind when he glanced over at Dana. One of them at least, probably both, would be dead within a few weeks. Life had never seemed more precious, yet these days, which would probably be his last, were also going to be his worst.

* * *

Everything seemed to move slower than he had anticipated. While he was hesitant to enter the arena, Finnick also found that the wait was killing him, and slowly. First they had sat down with their mentors to discuss tactics, their approaches and strengths, etc. District 4 more victors than most, so therefore they would rotate mentoring roles each year. This year, the two chosen were Mags, and elderly woman who could have been alive for the very first hunger games, and Tarkin, a man in his thirties smelling strongly of tobacco. Of course, Finnick didn't know what tobacco was, but the pungent smell was impossible not to notice. He could only just refrain from scrunching up his nose when he sat down next to him. The mentors needed to like him if they were going to help him, he reminded himself.

"So," Mags said after dismissing Selesta. Obviously she didn't actually dismiss her, but instead advised her that it might be a good idea to 'check their schedule and tell them when they had reached the Capitol'. Their schedule was pretty straightforward, and the Capitol was several hours away, but somehow Mags had made it sound as though doing this would be a job of the utmost importance.

She continued, "I'm Mags, and this is Tarkin, in case you didn't know." She reached for the pot sitting on the table, took a cup and poured herself some tea. She was silent for a long time, and they all sat in silence, anticipating her to continue. Instead, it looked as though Mags was done with her quick introduction. She sipped her tea and smiled kindly around at each of them as though she hadn't even begun speaking.

"So," Dana began, "Are we going to talk strategies or what?" She seemed impatient to get things started, and Finnick couldn't blame her. Forget the Hunger Games, they hadn't even been aboard this train for an hour and he was beginning to feel as though the wait would kill him.

"Well"- Tarkin began.

Mags waved him off. "There'll be plenty of time for that during and after dinner." She said gently. "For now the best thing you can do is try to relax." She paused for a moment, and then picked up the teapot. "Tea, anyone?"

Without warning Dana got up, knocking over her chair in the process and stalked out of the room. Her face had gone red. Her eyes were just beginning to well up with tears and she looked far different from the emotionless tribute on stage earlier that day. She obviously couldn't relax. Mags and Tarkin looked at each other for a minute, and Tarkin nodded.

"I'll get it."

Tarkin rose and followed where Dana had left the compartment, giving Finnick the impression that this sort of thing happened often. He did his best to remain calm and accepted a cup of tea from Mags. They sipped in silence and he gazed outside the window at the passing landscape once more.

"It's important to keep a level head," Mags said, having finished her cup of tea. He turned to her to find her observing an intricately decorated tea saucer. "If you lose your calm, you make mistakes. You start to panic." She turned to look at him with eyes wizened with age. "Adrenaline's important, so is strength, but patience and _planning_ is too." She turned to look out of the window. "Just a thought."

Finnick nodded, and couldn't help but thinking of Annie. Clever Annie, who was back home in District 4 and had always possessed the patience he lacked.

* * *

They all soon agreed that it would be best to mentor Dana and Finnick separately, and Finnick made no complaints. It would be much easier to accept the fact that for him to live, Dana would have to die, if they didn't end up becoming amicable. Still this decision brought some tension.

No one bothered to question who would mentor whom. There seemed to be some sort of unspoken yet unanimous agreement that Tarkin would take Dana and Mags Finnick. At first Finnick wasn't sure if he was happy with this. Mags seemed to have no air of direction about her, and while after afternoon tea Dana and Tarkin had left to discuss some things privately, he and Mags remained at the table after it had been cleared, drinking tea.

Finnick thought quietly to himself about this for a while. Mags has to have some sort of strategy. After all, she must have been doing this for at least fifty or so years, and they wouldn't ask her to mentor again if she was no good at it. He thought back to her earlier comment about patience and decided to keep his mouth shut and not question her.

"The most important thing for now is to trust me," Mags said quietly, setting down her saucer. It was as though she had read his mind. "Do you?"

Finnick thought for a moment, and met her gaze, old, wizened, kind, and…sympathetic?

"Yeah," he cleared his throat. "Yes, I do."

Mags nodded. "Good, that's important. Since Dana's being mentored by Tarkin separately it'll just be you and me. I hope you're not put off by this, it happens more often than you would think. Some people think that getting into things straight away and cramming as much useful information as possible in this time is the most important thing. At times this can be useful, but at other times – deadly." She paused, regaining her thoughts. "How old are you, Finnick?"

"Fourteen," he replied.

Mags' eyebrows rose slightly. "So young," her voice was the slightest bit bitter, or was he just imagining it? "Still, could pass for sixteen. Good height…yes…" Mags was no longer really addressing him, but rather inspecting him and mumbling to herself. "The parade is tonight, I think you'll make a good impression, especially with some of the younger girls." Finnick was slightly embarrassed, but Mags continued un-phased. All of a sudden she was all business. "That's good, it'll help you get sponsors. Your stylist this year is very good I think, which is lucky. This means that you've already got a predisposition to win, because a good impression at the parade means sponsors. You know how the whole thing with sponsors works, right?"

"Yeah, I make them like me and they help me not die."

"No," Mags replied, looking him sternly in the eye. "Finnick, this is possibly the most important thing you can do before entering the Games. You're in the arena, you're weapon less or waterless or starving, you're on the brink of death, and they are the _only ones_ that can get you what you need to survive. Do you understand? The only ones. Getting them to like you isn't enough. You only have two chances, the parade and the interview, and the parade is the most important because it's tonight. You want to live? You have to make them _love_ you."

* * *

Annie walked through the front door, having not thought about what would happen upon her return. Her arrival was noticed immediately, and her aunt looked livid.

"Annie, where the hell were you? You said you were going to say goodbye to Finnick, and then you just disappeared," Ayla let out a sigh, and continued with more anger than she had intended. "We've been worried sick, what were you thinking running off like that?"

Annie tried to answer, but just ended up bursting into tears. Her hands clenched the sides of her dress and despite her exhaustion she was openly weeping. She felt so foolish, but with every attempt to stop her crying she would only release more sobs. Who was she kidding earlier, Finnick was only fourteen. There was no way he could win. There would be 18-year-old careers in the games, bloody thirsty, highly skilled killers who had been training their entire lives for this. And then she would continue sobbing when she thought of the pain Finnick would go through being killed by these people. Annie had never been one to cry, never. Crying didn't help anything. But now it seemed as though every time she had ever not cried was coming back to her.

Ayla just stood there, caught off guard. She had expected Annie to be upset, of course, but the open weeping in front of her was too much for her to handle. She had helped her parents to raise Annie after her sister's death, not the other way around. Fortunately, Nonna possessed tender mothering instinct, nurtured by years of raising two daughters. Her grandmother pulled Annie into an embrace, and hushing her, stroked her hair. This was the first time she had ever seemed truly there since Annie's grandfather had passed. She knew what she was doing, she was good at this. She needed no comfort when a child was in need of it.

Annie composed herself. "I'm sorry." She croaked, pulling away from her grandmother.

"It's ok, Annie," Ayla murmured quietly. "It's hard. I know."

Annie nodded, saying nothing. Most of the district would be celebrating, their children having escaped the reaping for another year, except for that girl's family and Finnick's father.

"I'm gonna go change," and with that she left to her room, no longer being able to bare this dirty lilac dress which reeked of tears and the fear of the Reaping. She opened her drawers, putting on a skirt which brushed the tops of her knees and a loose white t-shirt. She went to the bathroom to the chipped tap and washed her face and hands. She combed out her long hair until most of the knots were gone. She inspected herself in the mirror. The redness she had caught a flash of was gone, but her eyes appeared cold and steely. She had never seen herself like this, so solemn, jaw clenched firm. At least she no longer looked as though she had been crying.

* * *

They dined early that night, Ayla had bought some chicken and rice and prepared an especially nice dinner, as per after reaping tradition. They didn't speak during the meal. Annie's grandmother had once again retreated into her shell, and any conversation topics seemed to have disappeared. Annie helped her Aunt wash up while Nonna reclined on the couch to rest her aching feet. They were just drying the last dishes when there was a knock on the door, which Ayla answered.

A vaguely familiar voice spoke, "Hi, does Annie Cresta live here?"

Ayla looked over to Annie with a slightly confused expression. Nonna turned from the couch to look to.

Another voice broke through, "I told you it wasn't her house"-

"No, she does," Ayla said quickly, stepping aside.

Annie came to the door, and recognised Roger and Rhett, Finnick's friends. She stood still there, looking at them, and they spoke before her mouth even formed any words.

"Oh, hey Annie," Roger said. "I told you it was hers," he added, looking at Rhett, who shrugged.

Annie didn't say anything.

Rhett continued, "We were going over to Finn's house to watch the parade, you know, for support since it's just his dad and brother."

Annie remained silent.

"Do you wanna come?"

"Umm," she looked over to Ayla for approval, who thought for a second.

"It's fine. But we expect you back as soon as it's done, ok?" she said.

"Yeah, sure," Annie replied. She took a step out of the door but Nonna called after her before she could go further.

"Annie, shoes."

* * *

When they arrived, they found Finnick's father was not alone, but with a similarly aged couple who turned out to be Rhett's parents, and Finnick's brother, Wil, who she had never seen before. Finnick and Rhett's fathers, she soon discovered, were very close. Despite the discomfort Annie would commonly feel around people she didn't know very well, and the mix of people with whom she was sure she had never spoken, Annie felt strangely included. They were all there for Finnick. These were the people who would not be celebrating tonight, but who all had someone important to lose in these games. There was a certain comfort in that. No one spoke much, and Annie not at all except to introduce herself to Finnick's father, who had shaken her hand warmly and told her to address him as Alec. She felt as though every time Rhett or Roger looked at her they were thinking of how strange she seemed. Annie was used to this though, having grown up surrounded by people who made her feel like that, constantly feeling shy. She had gotten over it by now and learned to deal with the feeling.

"Shh, it's starting," Rhett's mother piped up. Everyone sat and gazed intently at the screen, Annie on the ground near Roger, her knees drawn to her chest.

First came District 1, who seemed to be wearing clothing made entirely out of jewels. With every flourishing movement of the girl the light would reflect and dance off of her dress. She really stood out of the first two districts, and while slim was just as tall as the boy from her district. District Two's tributes looked utterly vicious, clad in some sort of stylish silver armour which must somehow relate to masonry. Annie ignored District Three, trying to focus behind them in the wait for Finnick to appear. She clasped her hands tightly and bit her lip, everyone in the room just as nervous. His gaining sponsors would depend greatly on whether or not he made and impression during this parade.

And he did. He _really _did. They both did. He and Dana stood upon what appeared to be two giant, golden clam shells. She wore a green strapless dress, which other than the bust, was made of strips of seaweed looking material which flowed all the way down to her feet. Finnick's stylist seemed to think that less was more, and he was wearing simple deep green pants and no shirt. Both had gold patterns like waves painted on their hands and arms and wore golden crowns. In one of Finnick's hands he held a golden trident. Unlike his small, practical trident he used to spear fish, this one was enormous, and the three prongs were set far apart, obviously made for show. It worked, it all worked. They looked like sea gods, and the crowd _loved_ them.

And Finnick…no one could guess that earlier that day he had nearly accepted his imminent death. He seemed to be radiating, glowing gold. He smiled that smile that Annie secretly hated. The broad one that he had plastered on his face in his attempt to woo and flatter the Capitol was working. Girls cheered and screamed and cried out his name just that little bit louder than any of the other tributes and there were even some roses thrown at them. He looked so old, so strong. Annie regretted her earlier acceptance of his death. _He really has a chance, at least with the sponsors_.

After the screen flashed over to District 5, Wil got up and switched off the television. There was silence in the room. They were all dumbfounded with how well it had gone.

Then finally Rhett's dad said, "Looks like District 4 might have a victor this year." And smiled broadly.

The rest broke out into celebration, clapping and patting Alec on the back reassuringly and smiling. Rhett smiled at her and she smiled back, her feelings of awkwardness forgotten. All of them were filled with hope that maybe, just maybe Finnick would come back.

She realised she would be expected home soon, and after saying goodbye, Alec grasped her shoulder with one of his hands and looked her in the eyes, "Thank you, girl," he said, "Thank you."

Annie nodded, not sure exactly what for, and turned to leave. She had taken a few steps from the door when she heard it reopen and close behind her.

"Hey, Annie, wait up," Roger called after her. She stopped to let him catch up. "I'll walk with you, I live close by."

"Ok," she said.

They walked in silence for some time, Annie making no attempt to start conversation. She chewed her lip subconsciously, her head teeming with thoughts.

"Do you…" Roger started, "Do you think he'll make it back?"

Annie looked at her feet. She really had no idea, and took a long time to answer. She looked over at him, his eyes still on her. "Difficult to say, I mean he's got a chance. I…" she trailed off, "I hope so." She paused before continuing, "You two are really close."

It was an observation, not a question, but Roger nodded.

"Since we were young," he said.

They were childhood friends. Annie thought back on her insane reaction earlier that day and felt ashamed. Roger was losing his oldest friend, yet she had cried more than ever. She couldn't imagine what it must be like for him. Then again, Finnick was pretty much her only friend, the only person she had ever talked to about her worries or anxieties, the only person she had told about her father's abandonment. Maybe it was the same.

"Same as you I guess," he said with an air of musing.

Annie looked slightly surprised, "Oh, no I don't think so. I mean, we're friends, but not like you two."

He gave a small smile, "I wouldn't be too sure."

Annie didn't know what to say, but at that moment she realised that the person she could relate to most right now was Roger. They remained silent for the rest of the walk, but he didn't seem perturbed by her silence.

"Well, this is me," she said quietly when they neared her house.

"See you, Annie," he said.

"Bye," she tried to give a small smile, but his eyes looked troubled as they looked at her. The hope from the parade has been washed away and a sea of fear replaced it. It was not even nearly over.

* * *

**That chapter took **_**so**_** long to write. Hopefully you enjoyed it. If there's any mistakes or bits that make no sense please tell me, I'm really tired right now and there's a high chance that I screwed something up. Anyway thanks for reading, I'd love to know what you think about it please.**


	8. Chapter 8

**I don't own the Hunger Games.**

* * *

**Chapter 8:**

That night they watched the recap of the parade in the District Four quarters and listened to Selesta and Tarkin commenting on how well it had gone. Mags simply nodded quietly and gave Finnick and Dana approving looks. Finnick could hardly believe it was them on that screen, that it was him. Washed off and changed into ordinary attire, they both looked ragged and tired and small. But on the parade, they looked formidable, like sea gods. Milena, the stylist for both of them, was congratulated by all of them on a wonderful job. She beamed at all of them. Her hair and eyes were both blue, but other than this colouring her skin remained natural and she was not extravagantly dressed. She seemed to be working alone for the both of them as opposed to having a partner stylist.

Tarkin switched off the TV when the parade was done, he and Mags addressing both the tributes together.

"Alright, tomorrow is your first day of training," he began, "Before we get started on the stations you'll be visiting and those things, we need to sort something out. Dana has already said that she doesn't want to join the career pack. Finnick, what would you like to do?"

Finnick thought for a moment. Careers or no careers? Sure, they would be a threat later, but what use was later if he was killed in the bloodbath at the very start of the games? He glanced over at Mags. Was he just imagining it, or did she give him the slightest nod?

"Yeah," he nodded, "I wanna team up."

He avoided Dana's look, which may have been something of disgust or incredulity.

"Well then it's settled," Tarkin said, un-phased, "I guess we'll split up now then to talk tactics." He and Dana left the room, as did Selesta and Milena.

"That was very impressive," Mags said, "You seem to have a knack for entertaining a crowd."

"I guess I do," he tried to grin, but the thought of seeing himself on the screen, winking and lapping up the praise of the ones who were going to kill him made it difficult. "Do you think it was the right choice teaming up with the Careers?"

Mags thought for a second, "Yes, dear." She patted his arm gently, like a mother or grandmother would. "Don't fret about it, there's a reason it's usually one of them, or one of _you_ to win each year, and it's not just that a lot of them train. Now, tell me, what are your strengths?"

Finnick answered, "I can swim pretty well, and I'm not too bad with a trident. I spear fish sometimes." This sounded like a pathetic set of skills to him suddenly.

"A trident? There's no guarantee that they'll have one of those," she looked thoughtful, "Similar to a spear?"

"Yeah," he said.

"I'll see what I can do about that," she said, "Meanwhile, tomorrow, try and establish alliances. I'll do my part to talk to the other tributes' mentors, but you have to do your part as well. Don't give away too much about what you can do, but try to get the Careers to see you as valuable, got it?"

Finnick nodded.

"There's not a lot extra you can learn about fighting unfortunately in a week," she continued, "But survival techniques are very, _very_ important, got it? More likely than not, if you survive the bloodbath, it won't be another tribute that kills you. Do you understand me Finnick?"

"Yes, yes I understand," fear was bubbling up in his stomach, but he pushed it away.

"Good," Mags nodded, "That's important, ok? So once you feel like you've thrown enough spears and swung a sword or a mace, at one point head for the edible plants and snares and knot tying section. There's a lot to be learned there."

"Ok Mags, I've got it."

Her eyes looked knowing, "I know you do," she gave a small, gentle smile, "Now head to bed boy, you've got a big week ahead of you."

He got up and walked away, but stopped at the doorway. "Mags?"

"Yes, Finnick?"

"When should I split from the pack?" this thought made him nervous. Under the protection of the Careers, his survival was almost guaranteed - but only temporarily.

Mags' eyes narrowed. "If you don't receive a signal from me, follow your instincts."

"What sort of signal?" Finnick asked.

Mags looked uncertain for the first time, "I'll think of something."

* * *

And a big week it was. Finnick had decided to focus on one task at a time. He would not think of the games, not think of how this would impact on his performance in the games. Instead, the first thing he would do would be to reach out to the tributes from 1 and 2. Generally, 2 were always in the pack and at least one tribute from 1 every Games. 4 was often but not always included, as while many had fishing or spearing or swimming skills and were well fed and strong, not as many kids would volunteer. In fact, Finnick had only seen one volunteer from 4 ever in his life, when he was very young. And this boy had volunteered when a thirteen-year-old girl was reaped, maybe they had been related or something. Thinking about this boy made Finnick nervous. He'd gotten close to the end and been slaughtered by the Careers.

He had approached the District 1 tributes and introduced himself. He found out they were called Willow and Rhys. Although Finnick was tall for his age, Rhys had about three years on him at least, and few inches in height. While somewhat interested, he mostly seemed mostly to be ignoring him.

"How old are you?" Willow asked him. Finnick swallowed, "Fourteen."

"Oh," was the reply.

Who wanted a fourteen year old in their group? He'd show them. Forgetting all that Mags had said about hiding his abilities, he stepped up to the spear station, pretending to listen when the instructor taught him the correct grip and how to throw. He pretended to find the spear somewhat heavy when he picked it up and the instructor stepped away. He felt a few sets of eyes on him, with cavalier interest. Then with skill attained from years of aiming for fish, he threw the spear with all his might.

Despite being different from a trident in some ways, Finnick still managed to handle the spear with similar ease. It shot through the air and hit the board in the very middle, digging deep into the surface. Without looking to see the career's reactions, he turned and walked over to the knots and snares section.

* * *

For the rest of the week there was no more sneering or looking down at him. He learned the names of the tributes from 2, Jed and Raya, but decided to try and keep from getting to know too many of the other tributes. The Careers were one thing, they were an obvious threat to him and he accepted the fact that to win the Games he would probably have to kill them. But even knowing their names was enough to make him uneasy. If he knew too many of them as people, it would make the task of winning all too difficult.

Finally came the test in front of the Gamemakers at the end of the week. He was full of apprehension for this, having not yet decided what he was going to do to impress them. _Show them what you can do, make them think you can win_. That's what Mags had said.

"Finnick Odair."

His name was called. He looked back at Dana, gave her a brief nod, stood up and walked in.

The room was filled with boards, weapons, dummies and ropes. On a raised platform in a small room were the Gamemakers. He cursed that 1 and 2 were the first to go in as they set such a high standard for the rest of them. He walked over to the platform.

"Finnick Odair, District 4," he said. They didn't respond, just looked at him as he turned and walked towards the ropes and dummies.

He worked quickly, knowing that he didn't have a great deal of time. He knotted an elaborate snare which he had spent a great deal of time perfecting in training, trapping a dummy in it. He crossed over to the spears sections, hoping desperately for a trident. He found one sitting there, off to the side. It was perfect, smaller than the spears. It felt good in his hand, slightly heavier than his wooden one at home, but still easy to hold. He walked away from the dummy, about halfway across the room, and raised his arm to throw. Just before he did, he made the mistake of looking over at the Gamemakers. They looked bored and Finnick realised with dismay that this short distance would not be nearly enough to impress them.

He lowered his arm and strode over all the way to the opposite wall. He had never thrown from this far before. It was a risk because he would make himself look like a fool if he missed. He thought of Mags' advice about patience, and taking a deep breath, slowly raised his arm. With all his might he threw the trident, which soared through the air. It hit the dummy directly in the neck, ripping its head off.

Finnick wasn't sure what to do now, he probably had a minute or two left but had nothing planned. He also couldn't remember if he had to bow or say anything. He turned to face the Gamemakers, their faces void of emotion.

"You may go," one dismissed him, and he obliged.

* * *

A ten. A training score of _ten_. How had he done it? Annie once more felt hope flood through her that her friend may return. It was the night of the interviews, the night before the 24 tributes entered the arena, and this was Finnick's last chance to make an impression before he was thrown to the mercy of the Gamemakers. She sat with her Aunt and Nonna on the chairs near the television. This was mandatory viewing, but there was no way Annie would miss it anyway. He nerves had gotten so bad that she had taken to keeping a rope with her and tying knots. It reminded her of that afternoon fishing and tying knots with Finnick and gave her both peace and sadness. The knot tying made her fingers somewhat red and raw, but at least it was better than her destroying her nails and the skin around them. However, even this didn't prevent her chewing on them all through the night.

First there was the sleek looking and cunning seeming girl from 1, Willow, who seemed to purr whenever she spoke and whose eyes reminded Annie of a cat. She was disconcerting, deadly, and gave the impression that she was the one to beat. The rest of the Careers all made strong impressions, if not through winning personalities, then high training scores and that glint in their eyes. That look, that glint….Annie shuddered at the thought. It was a hunger for battle, a thirst for blood, a craving for killing.

The two from 3 looked terrified. Poor things, the boy who was the oldest seemed about Finnick's age, but not nearly as strong looking or well fed. Annie shook her head. It didn't matter. Finnick was the one who mattered. The only thing to worry about with the others was hoping for a quick death. Morbid, yes, but the only way Finnick could live was for the others to die.

Dana came before him, and was surprisingly good at the friendly banter with Caesar. She laughed and joked and smiled endearingly. In fact, she was so good at it that the crowd seemed almost disappointed for her to leave.

This was completely forgotten, however, when Finnick strode onto stage. He was wearing a deep blue suit, and looked at least sixteen years old. His hair had been styled to look casual and tousled, and his skin seemed to glow. He certainly looked very handsome. Annie had been hoping, praying even, that he would make a good impression. It was without need. He made more than a good impression. Before even commencing the interview it was evident that Finnick had already managed to attain a group of adoring fans. He smiled good naturedly but couldn't keep a cocky smile from flitting across his face.

_He's loving it_ Annie thought with disgust. Was he? It certainly seemed like it, but it didn't seem like the Finnick she knew. Did it? There were too many questions streaming through her head, each more difficult to answer than the one before. Her entire perception was constantly being altered by this boy she couldn't remember ever meeting. No, this _man_ almost, who was adored by freaky teenage girls and who couldn't even be bothered to hide his arrogance.

"Finnick, hello there," Caesar greeted him.

"Evening Caesar," Finnick answered with a smile.

"I have to congratulate you on your ten in training, that's very impression for a boy of…how old were you again?"

"Fourteen."

"Ah, only fourteen, I remember when I was fourteen. It was one of the best years of my life."

"Not that long ago, I'm sure."

Caesar chuckled, along with a few audience members. "You'd be surprised. Now, you know you've caused quite a stir here, don't you?"

Finnick had a look of fake surprise, "Stir? Me?" He grinned.

"Yes, well you've made quite an impression with all the young girls here," Caesar said this in a conversational manner, as though it was a secret, as though it was just them talking. Of course, there were millions of people watching.

"And they've made quite the impression with me." Queue the dazzling smile and cheering and laughter from the audience.

"And have you enjoyed your stay here?"

"Very much, in fact I'll be sad to leave."

_Only because you're about to go fight to the death_ thought Annie bitterly.

"I'll bet you will. Do you miss home?"

Finnick looked as though he was really thinking, "A bit, but I know I'll be back soon so it's not too bad." He was clearly playing it cocky. The approval he got from the audience, while disgusting, was somewhat reassuring.

"Hah, isn't he great folks?" this comment from Caesar brought screams and shouts from the audience. They loved him. No, they didn't love _him._ They loved this new Finnick, the cocky, self-assured one. "We haven't got a much time, so I only have a couple questions left."

"Shoot," Finnick leaned back in his chair comfortably.

"The audience would like to know what your favourite thing about the Capitol is."

Everyone seemed to lean forward in their seats. _Play it right_ thought Annie, hoping his answer would please them.

Finnick gave a chuckle, "Why, Caesar, I thought we covered this. The girls, _of course._"

The girls. Annie had had enough. She couldn't handle seeing this, this stranger on the screen. This couldn't be an act, it just couldn't. He was too good. Not even Finnick could lie like that, surely not. She stood up, throwing her rope to the ground and stalking out of the room. She didn't understand her reaction, but he looked so unfamiliar, and she remembered what it was like to be friendless once more, losing her only real friend. Growing up alone was one thing, but it was surely crueller to have been given a taste of companionship, of friendship, and then have it torn out of one's grasp.

She burst into her bedroom and lay down on her bed. This was not a time for tears, and thankfully they did not come. This was a time for Annie to reflect and contemplate the almost inevitable loss of her dear friend.

A few minutes later, Ayla came into her room. She was quiet as she slipped in. She didn't say anything for a while. Annie felt the weight of the mattress shift underneath her as her Aunt sat down tentatively. She asked her no questions, and Annie said nothing. She had never shared her feelings, talked about anything she felt or that had happened to her, and felt no need for it now. She had never searched for consolation of any kind since a very young age, and had not received it.

What Ayla said, however, truly helped her.

"Do you want to know what Caesar asked him next?"

Annie shook her head.

Ayla continued anyway. "He asked him what his favourite thing about home was," she said softly. Annie was still. "He said swimming."

Annie didn't respond with her face still buried in the pillow.

Ayla walked away, pausing at the doorway to say, "It's still him, Annie."

* * *

The smile was wiped from Finnick's face as soon as he had crossed and exited the stage. Mags met him at the edge and patted his arm. He suddenly felt very drained. The other tributes were swarming around him to get to the lifts, so he had to keep up a confident look. It was hard, as all he wanted to do was crumble to the ground and sleep forever. He saw Tarkin nodding while saying something to Dana.

"How did I do?" his eyes looked sullen and dead as he spoke.

"Perfect," Mags said reassuringly. "They loved you."

* * *

**Tell me what you think. Reviews provide motivation and with so much school work and tests I need them. I know there are people reading so it would be nice to hear what some of you think. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it.**


	9. Chapter 9

**I love all of your reviewers. Thanks to Allanah for pointing out the whole name thing which is now fixed haha. I always change my mind while writing so sometimes things get mixed up. I don't own the Hunger Games.**

* * *

**Chapter 9:**

When Finnick woke the next morning, he was at home in his bed at home. The sunlight streamed through the grimy window like usual and his eyelids ached as he tried to open them. Too bright, too bright. He pulled the covers over his face to block out the light, maybe with the hope of getting an extra half hour or so of sleep. It was no use, his body signalled that he had had enough sleep. But the sheets were so…so soft.

And that's what brought him to his senses. The sheets at home were rough and scratchy, the mattress hard and oddly shaped from being stuffed with straw and grasses. In spite of the luxurious comfort of this Capitol bed, he yearned with passionate longing to be back at home in his old, dusty room, ready for a day spent outdoors. He remembered where he was. He remembered who he was. He remembered what today was, and he wished with all of his being to forget.

Nevertheless, he forced himself out of bed. He wasn't in the arena yet, it was too early to give up. He saw the clothes that were laid out for him and dressed himself sleepily in black trousers, boots, a cotton shirt, and a fitted jacket. The clothing felt light but strangely warm and this offered no hint as to what the arena would be like. When he left his room and went to the dining room, he found everyone already sitting there, eating their breakfast quietly.

They looked up at him upon entry.

"Am I late?"

Mags shook her head, "No dear, everyone's early is all."

He swallowed hard and sat down. His appetite had disappeared when he needed it most. For a minute he just sat there with an empty plate in front of him and stared at all of the food. He looked over at Dana and saw that he was not the only one. She was struggling to get through a single piece of toast. He thought of the Games and how much he would need his strength to try and force himself to eat. However, thoughts of the Games simply made him feel sick.

Mags noticed his struggle. "Take your time," she said, "But make sure you get something into you. And make sure you have something to drink. There's no telling if you'll be able to find water." She looked over at Dana, "Same goes for you."

Mags took up his plate for him. She put some toast, a bit of omelette, a pancake and a bit of bacon on it. She set it down in front of him

"Do your best and just see what you can get down."

He nodded and stared at the food. He picked up his fork and started taking small mouthfuls of the omelette. He got about halfway through his piece when he felt vomit rising up in his throat. He placed the fork down carefully, swallowed and tried to keep it down. It was working so far. He decided on less soft food and took the piece of toast, managing to finish it just. His stomach was in knots however.

To his right, Dana got up abruptly and hurried to the bathroom just a room away. She didn't even manage to close the door behind her before he heard the sickening sound of her retching. Tarkin rose to go help her. The sound only brought up his own urge to vomit and he had to take deep breaths. _Ignore it_ he told himself _you can do this_. Doubt had steadily but surely crept into his mind and try as he might he couldn't shake it off. He only had a few short hours left.

* * *

Annie awoke early, before dawn. Her entire night had been a blur in which she wasn't even sure if she had slept at all. It was difficult to tell. She was desperately tired, but urged herself not to go back to sleep. The last dream that she had remembered, she had seen Finnick in the arena, only the arena was their bay. He had been standing in the water and laughing with her. It had seemed so happy, but he was wearing his interview suit, which was when Annie had noticed something was wrong. As quickly as it had come, his laugh disappeared, replaces by a coughing splutter. He collapsed and was dead in seconds, the girl from 1 standing behind him with a bloodied knife and a bloodthirsty glint in her cat-like eyes. No more dreams. It was time for the real thing. She said a quick prayer to no one in particular and got up. It's not like anyone was listening, anyway. This world of theirs was beyond help either way.

The hours seemed to pass strangely fast. Maybe it was because of how sleep deprived she was, who knew. She left the house just as Ayla and her grandmother woke up. She needed desperately to be alone, away from the tension and nerves and bustle of the town. She needed the bay.

Upon arriving she sat on the beach and looked out at the water. There were no boats out this morning, as the bloodbath at the Cornucopia was mandatory viewing.

_Wouldn't wanna miss that_ Annie thought bitterly to herself. Still, the lack of life around her made her feel quite alone, which she was enjoying at the time. She looked at the rocks, the cliff, the sand, the gentle ebb and flow of the ocean, the soft azure sky, and couldn't stop herself from wondering whether Finnick would ever see any of this again. The odds certainly weren't in his favour. Then again, they weren't in anyone's.

And suddenly she felt guilty and couldn't bear to be here any longer without Finnick, because while she was here and could escape the horrors of reality temporarily, he couldn't, and instead he was preparing to die. She got up off the sand and began walking back home. When she was not very far away, she caught sight of Roger, who waved.

"Hey Annie, you're up early," he greeted her, his voice sounding tired.

"Yeah I guess." She nodded at the heavy looking bag he was holding. "What's in the bag?"

"Food and things for Alec," Roger replied, "From my parents. He won't be leaving the house much if Finnick gets through, and if he doesn't…" he trailed off. Neither of them wanted to discuss the possibility of Finnick being dead within a matter of hours.

Annie lowered her eyes, understanding.

"Are you coming to watch?" he asked her. He seemed genuinely interested, not to just be saying it out of politeness.

"I think so," she said carefully, "Then again…" What if he was slaughtered on screen, right in front of them? The thought was impossible to deal with.

"Well, if you are, I'll see you there," he tried a smile but Annie didn't respond, barely made eye contact.

"Yeah, bye," she trudged off home, preoccupied with her worries.

When she asked Ayla about going to watch, she agreed, but not without her own concerns and hesitation.

"You know Annie, you don't have to watch…."

"Yeah," Annie said firmly, "I really do."

"She's been watching it since she was a child," Nonna called out, "What difference does it make now?"

"She's still a child!" Ayla snapped back.

"Whatever you say," Nonna grumbled something else under her breath that Annie couldn't make out.

"It's fine then," Ayla said, ignoring her mother. She turned back to Annie. "But I'll go with you."

* * *

They sat in the Odair's small living room. Rhett had not come today, but the Crestas had joined Roger and his family in supporting Alec and Will, Finnick's brother. Will seemed very different to Finnick, lacking his determination, the energy he radiated. He also seemed very quiet to Annie, but maybe that was just because he was nervous about watching his brother fight other kids to the death. He and his father seemed to have opted for an at home viewing. Normally, families of tributes would go to the town square where they would receive support from the rest of the District. It seemed they had enough support at home though, and Annie couldn't imagine how difficult it must be to watch family kill or be killed in front of swarms of people.

Ayla was about the age of Roger's parents and Alec, so everyone in the room seemed to have some sort of strange, distant connection. They probably went to school together, at most a few years apart. Luckily, she and Ayla hadn't arrived very early, so there wasn't much waiting around. Annie focused on the screen so that no one talked to her, pretending to be engrossed in the coverage of all that was happening back in the Capitol. Parties, parades, cheering crowds and enormous screens set up in the city centre. It was ridiculous.

The countdown was coming up, and her chest cavity ached. Her lungs hurt, breathing was difficult, and her heart thudded against her ribcage. Was it just her or was her inter body pulsing with each heart beat? It couldn't be. She looked to her right at Roger, who seemed not to be able to hear it. Thud. Thud. Thud. He turned to her and a slight look of concern flashed across his face.

"Annie, are you ok?"

She nodded and swallowed. Her heart continued thudding hard as she wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt. _Please don't die, oh god, oh crap, Finnick._ He had to survive.

Suddenly an image of the Cornucopia flashed on the screen, and now there was only sixty seconds to go until the bloodbath. And there it was, the arena, this year a murky forest which seemed to be mostly swamp. The whole place looked foul and damp and dark. There was water everywhere but more likely than not it would be full of sickness causing bacteria. And there he was, standing on one of the pedestals surrounding the Cornucopia. Annie could see that he was doing his best not to look terrified, but there was that look in his eyes which betrayed his nerves, the heavy rise and fall of his chest to signal his quickened breathing. He was terrified, and there was nothing anyone here could do to help him.

Thirty seconds to go, behind Annie, on a chair sat Ayla. She pulled Annie's hair back from her face and rested her hands on her shoulders, giving them a light squeeze. _He'll be fine, he'll be fine. He has to be fine_. She pulled her knees to her chest and rested her chin on them. Twenty seconds fast become ten, and then there was Claudius, saying:

"Three…Two…One…"

The tributes ran towards the Cornucopia and Annie began shaking. Everyone in the room held their breath. The beast of a boy from two was first there and picked up an enormous axe. He through it at the boy from 10 and it lodged itself deep into his skull. He was dead in a second. Annie's eyes searched for Finnick and he finally appeared for a brief moment, searching through the weapons at the very base of the Cornucopia.

_What are you doing? You're getting yourself killed!_ She wanted to cry and scream out to him but it would do her no good. He would be dead within seconds. Unless…

Yes, Annie realised what had happened. He had done something that could both save him and kill him. Finnick was now one of the Careers.

* * *

Ten were dead on the first day, and nine of these had been in the bloodbath. It had been especially horrific, which much water surrounding them, some of the bodies had been floating in the water, blood red mixing with murky brown to create a plume of who knows what colour. And she'd seen Finnick kill a girl… it was a mercy kill, to be fair. She'd been badly bludgeoned by the boy from 1 for trying to take a sword, but hadn't died. She just sort of floated there, flailing and half drowning despite the shallow water. Finnick had speared her, straight through the heart, a quick, easy death. His expression had been a tight lipped grimace and Annie knew that he would spend countless hours trying to justify it to himself.

The tenth death of that day was by completely natural causes. The girl from Eleven had been the first, and probably not the last, to befall one of the swamps deadly traps. Poison was not a pleasant death, and she surely would not have chosen the path she had had she known that she would step onto a snake. She had trembled violently as though she was having a seizure for at least a minute in the water, face down. She was unable to move, paralysed but shaking uncontrollably from the venom. It ended up not even being poison that killed her, but drowning.

Annie could only hope that if he did manage to escape the other tributes, Finnick would not befall such a fate.

* * *

**I love everyone who has reviewed, really every single one is deeply valued and appreciated, and I always go to write for like an hour after I read each one, so thank you. Sorry if my writing's getting sloppy, with school the only time I have to write is at night time before bed so I'm pretty tired. Let me know what you think please it helps more than you could know. Thanks for reading.**


	10. Chapter 10

**I think from now on I will be updating either on Tuesdays (Australia time) or Fridays. So once or twice a week. I hope that's enough. I don't own the Hunger Games.**

* * *

**Chapter 10:**

That first day, Ayla stayed with Annie for over an hour as she desperately watched to see what would become of Finnick.

"Come on, Annie, Nonna's at home waiting," she urged her to get up.

Annie shook her head, "What if something happens?"

"It's the first day, he's got allies. We have to go home now, we can watch then."

Ayla nudged her again, but Annie didn't want to leave. She felt that if Finnick died, she would be betraying him if she stopped watching, leaving him alone, abandoning him. She knew in her mind that this logic made no sense but she couldn't help feeling that way. Her walk home could be the time when Finnick could die. What if the Careers turned on him early? It was not unheard of. She was caught in this constant state of have a desperate desire to watch, but not wanting to see what horrors would befall him.

"They've had their show. Nothing's going to happen," Roger said kindly in an attempt to reassure her, "today." And there it was.

Annie looked around, knowing they were right.

"Fine," she said, "I'm coming."

The swamp was eerie and dark, and the phrase 'death trap' came to Finnick's mind. A permanent mist seemed to hang in the air, emitting a faint, bluish white glow. The whole place seemed surreal, like something out of a nightmare, but this nightmare contained a putrid odour which for some reason reminded him of fish guts and coconut, a fruit common in District 4 which he also happened to loathe. The Career pack seemed to have opted to remain and set up camp at the Cornucopia where all the supplies were. This decision made sense, and he would not be the one to overrule it, however the metallic and sickening scent of stale blood hung in the air, drenching his nostrils and making him somewhat lightheaded. _This is great_ he thought _I'm in the Hunger Games and the smell of blood is bothering me_.

They sorted through the supplies, finding water purifying tablets, rope and twine, rations, some water canteens and, in the spirit of the games, weapons galore. But no trident, he noted glumly. He'd have to settle for a spear, which seemed for too long, too heavy, too inaccurate for his liking. It was better than nothing though.

This took quite a long time, but looking around, Finnick found it surprising how dark it was getting so soon – and how cold.

"Kind of cold," Raya noted not long after the thought crossed his mind.

"Any matches?" Willow asked.

Everyone shook their heads. All around them, except for the patch of ground that the Cornucopia lay upon, was water, shallow in some parts, deep in others, and no doubt holding countless threats and ways for someone to get killed.

"There'd be nothing to light anyway," Finnick muttered, mostly to himself.

"What? Speak up, 4!" Jed barked in the typical 2 aggression.

Finnick looked at him coolly, remembering what Mags had kept reminding him during the week. He was always on camera, there were always people watching.

"I just said that even if we had matches, there's not dry or dead wood to light anyway," he said, not flinching when Jed's eyes narrowed.

"I suppose so," he grumbled.

"We'll just have to deal with the cold then," concluded Rhys.

Dealing with the cold turned out to be harder than one would think. The temperature dropped considerably overnight and would have been near impossible to cope with had it not been for the sleeping bags found in the packs. Finnick was on second watch, and he sleepily wandered to himself how the other tributes would be coping. Some of them had managed to obtain packs, a few not. At what must have been past midnight there was the sound of a cannon firing off in the distance. Finnick could not imagine anyone leading any kind of assault or attack at this time. This death would be due either to injury or the unforgiving cold. He shuddered to think of what the past few hours must have been like for that unfortunate soul, but forced it to the back of his mind. He shouldn't be thinking like this. Pity would get him killed. He continued knotting and putting his focus into the net he had begun weaving earlier. Who knows, it could become useful.

* * *

Annie's time was primarily consumed with watching the Games. She was constantly nervous, so, _so _much more than usual. She kept that rope with her at all times while watching the Games to keep her hands busy. She watched Finnick as he survived each day, sometimes at home, sometimes at Finnick's house with his father and brother and friends, and once even on the screen in the town centre. She watched him knot, she watched him hunt, and she watched him receive gifts. These he never seemed short of. Each day a parachute would come down with whatever he may need, water purifying tablets, bread, if he needed it he would get it. This sort of gift receiving was unprecedented, and made even more unusual by the fact that to this day Finnick's only kill was that mercy kill at the Cornucopia. Call it what you want, Annie saw the look in Finnick's eyes when he delivered that blow, pity, guilt.

Before the Games, Annie was sure she couldn't have spoken to Roger more than once, if ever. But now, she could almost think of him as a friend. Not in the same friend sense that she thought of Finnick though, who was her companion, her confidante. Still, Roger showed a maturity beyond his years, and it was interesting for her to compare Finnick's impulsive nature with Roger's careful thinking, one's energy with the other's calmness. It could be true that opposites attract, looking at those two as best friends.

Roger never seemed to have his family around, and in the small amount of conversation they had, never mentioned it. It seemed to be something he shaded, hid, and while she was curious Annie did not question it. She knew better than to try and bring up subjects people obviously wanted to ignore.

On the sixth day of the Games she sat on the floor in front of the day, the discomfort of the hard wooden boards underneath her keeping her awake. This had been a night where she had hardly slept, a few hours at most, with plenty of waking and sweating and nightmares. She feared for her health but was too tired for this to be too much of a concern. Have to watch, have to knot, Finnick can't die, Finnick can't die…

Her dreams were no longer of far off worlds or bizarre happenings. They were filled with her life for the past few days, the sitting, the stress, the nails being chewed to the bone, the knot tying and knot tying and more knot tying. She was in a constant state of anxiety, her dreams the same as real life except she would be watching the games and something horrible to Finnick. His neck would be snapped suddenly and quickly by the brute from 2 or he would fall into one of the traps which had taken the lives of other tributes. The worst of these had probably been a suction hole in the swamp, undetectable beneath the water. The girl had struggled and cried and screamed and sobbed unbearably as she was slowly and horribly pulled underneath and drowned. In her dream, Finnick had been the one to befall this fate, and his cries had seemed so real that Annie had awoken gasping, silently screaming.

This sort of thing happened when she had spent so much of the day indoors alone, while Ayla and Nonna went to the stall. There was no convincing her to go with them, she would not leave. These past three days had been spent inside the home and that was how the rest of her days would be spent until Finnick was either safe or dead.

She heard a knock behind her, but ignored it. Finnick was not on the screen, so she would knot and knot and knot some more.

"Annie?"

She turned to see Roger standing there, holding something in his hand.

"Roger," she croaked, and cleared her throat. "Roger."

"Geez, Annie, you look like death."

She stared at him, unaware of how she was made to look in the poorly lit room, curled up on the ground with a rope in hand and deep bags set under her eyes.

"Sorry," he apologised upon seeing her nonresponsive. "Here I brought you something."

He tossed it to her, and she instinctively caught it. A mango, ripe and fresh and smelling deliciously sweet.

"Thank you, Roger, but I can't accept it," she shook her head.

"It cost nothing, we have a tree of them, and they've been really good this year."

He walked over and sat next to her, taking the mango and pulling a knife from his pocket. He cut a portion off and cut cubes into it and handed it to her.

"We missed you at Finnick's," he said while she ate. She doubted this. "Alec's had trouble coping. The longer goes by, the more of a wreck he is. He's worried. Wil's having trouble calming him down."

"Nothing can help him," Annie murmured, setting the left over mango skin down.

"What?" Roger looked at her.

"I said nothing can help him," she repeated, knowing the feeling all too well. It was too soon for her to lose her friend. "Not until Finnick comes back. Then he'll be ok. It'll all be ok…" she trailed off.

Roger looked uneasy, "Annie, you can't just…"

But the look the Annie shot him stopped him from finishing his sentence. There was no "he might not"s, not this far in the game. Her bloodshot eyes said that this was not a thought worth considering right now. They sat in silence, Annie knotting and he observing the screen. Her concentration was lost, she was hardly awake. She felt so desperately tired, the kind of tired where sleep seems to offer no relief. It was a haze, all noise seemed distant and even the rope seemed to be slipping from her vision.

"Annie, Annie it's them."

Roger nudged her and her eyes flickered up to the screen immediately. It showed the Career pack, following smoke from a fire near their camp. Little did they know it was a trap.

Annie thought bitterly about how much fun this must be for the Gamemakers. They must be overjoyed, showing the unsuspecting Careers following the smoke, the girl lighting the fire and quickly climbing a tree, and the stirring beast which lay asleep under the water between them and the fire.

"Oh no…no, no," Annie groaned.

Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith appeared in the corner of the screen, commenting on how an alligator, a muttation lay in the water. Footage from a previous death by this alligator flashed up on the screen and Annie closed her eyes, but was unable to get rid of the few images she had seen. Teeth like knives, a thirst for blood, and a mass of red pouring from a mangled corpse. By the end there was next to nothing left.

And the Careers waded forward unknowingly. It was Finnick, Raya, Willow and Jed who had gone, Rhys keeping watch back at the Cornucopia. They were close now, so dangerously close.

Jed was the first to notice something.

"Stop!" he exclaimed, but it was too late.

Yellow eyes stared from the water for about a second, and then the silence was over and the beast launched itself from the water. Raya shrieked as she darted out of the way. The swamp waters made it doubly hard to move, while the alligator was completely in its element. It darted out, stretching out a massive jaw containing a lightless, gaping gulf and those killer teeth. It was all over within a matter of seconds, all of them splashing urgently and moving away in what seemed like slow motion. The cameras provided no clarity on the situation and Annie couldn't help but let out a small moan and grab Roger's arm, squeezing hard, her blunt nails digging into skin.

Half the screen zoomed out on the remaining tributes while the other half replayed what just happened in slow motion. The mutt had seized Willow in its teeth, the sickening crunch of its jaw crushing her now so frail bones being magnified, and her entire body being split and dragged underneath the surface. The survivors frantically hurried away, but the beast would not attack again today, its hunger temporarily satisfied.

Annie released Rogers arm, only noticing now what had happened in her anxiety.

"Sorry," she said.

"It's alright I hardly noticed," he waved her off, inspecting her face and bloodshot eyes. "Annie, you really should get some sleep."

She avoided his gaze, feeling uncomfortable at being looked at for this long.

"It's fine," she lied. The room was spinning.

"Annie, you can't not sleep."

_Try me_ she thought weakly. Her knots fumbled. Rhys had just found out the news about Willow and he looked steely.

"Wow," commented Roger, dropping the subject of sleep, "He took that well."

Annie shook her head, "No he didn't. He's scared."

Roger turned back to the TV for a second. "He doesn't look it."

"He's scared," she continued, "Because now if he dies, he dies with nothing left from home. He's got no one left with him. It's scary."

"Whatever," Roger shrugged, "Come on Annie, you should go to bed."

She didn't appreciate being brushed off like that, but was too tired to notice anything. Her head ached. Roger stood up and offered a hand to help her up.

"Fine, I'm coming."

She didn't accept his hand, instead getting up on her own. She stumbled a few feet to the couch and lay there, too exhausted to bother going to her room.

"Sleep well, Annie," Roger said and began leaving.

"Roger," she mumbled.

He turned and said half expectantly, "Yeah?"

"Wake me if something…if something….happens…with Finn…" she trailed off, far too tired to keep talking. Already she was slipping out of consciousness.

"Sure."

* * *

Since Willow's death, all of them had been uneasy. There were four other tributes out there, including the one who had ambushed them with the mutt of an alligator. There was distrust in the air, the group seemed unstable, and no one knew if they were going to wake up with a knife in their back. And that night there was the night Finnick knew he had to leave. It was too much of a risk to stay with the Careers, better to get a head start. It was getting difficult hiding the packages he received from them anyway. He offered to take first watch, and no one complained. This whole game was getting tiring. With the others asleep quickly, he would have the whole night to get as far from them as possible, maybe even get some rest.

Once he was certain, or as certain he would ever be, that the others were asleep, he quietly tucked his knotting work into his pack, picked up his belongings, and crept away. It would have been impossibly dark with no moonlight if not for the eerie glow coming from the fog which lay like a heavy blanket. He picked a direction and prayed that it was the right one. He hoped this was the right time. What if it wasn't? There was no signal from Mags. Or maybe there had been a signal and he missed it.

_Come on Mags, help me out here_.

And as though she had heard his silent plea, sure enough, a few feet ahead of him, the familiar shape of a silver parachute descended through the fog. He could not make out what it was, but saw that it was larger than anything he had received previously. He went forward to uncover it and gasped.

In his hands he held a silver trident.

_Let the games begin_.

* * *

**Queue the usual spiel about I'm sorry if it was crap and tell me if you hated it blah blah. Reviews are so greatly appreciated you have no idea. I'm like a child every time I get one. Thanks for reading/commenting/favouring/alerting.**


	11. Chapter 11

**I'm not sure if I mentioned it before, but for those wondering the title of the song comes from the song by Giselle Roselli.**

**Oh you guys that reviewed, hugs for all of you! Your messages are truly lovely and it's great to know this story readers who are enjoying it and I'm trying to reply to all of them. Also to those who have favourited or subscribed, you're all amazing.**

**I apologise for not being able to update as often as I used to. I'm nearing the exam period at school and have a lot to prepare for, so I'm planning to do regular updates most likely on Tuesdays. I don't own the Hunger Games.**

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**Chapter 11:**

When Annie awoke it was evening. The last thing she remembered was stumbling over to the couch and collapsing there. When she awoke she felt stiff and her neck ached from a lack of a pillow. At some point someone, probably her Nonna, had placed a scratchy. Her arms and legs prickled from the coarse fabric, but she did not move. She didn't want to even open her eyes. She felt like a sick person and she wanted to escape once again to that elusive dreamland where things are right and children aren't forced to murder each other for pleasure. Her eyes opened slowly and she found her lids no longer felt heavy. She felt rested once again, but with that rest came a clear mind that throbbed with the pain of endless anxiety and worries.

The television had been switched off, and she did not turn it on again. Who knows what she would find, perhaps Finnick would be dead. She lay there for several minutes, regaining her consciousness, before she finally decided to lift herself from her temporary bed. She ignored her aching muscles' protests and pulled herself up, stretching her back. The television sat there, beckoning, but she could not bring herself to turn it back on. From that would stem more and more hours of knot tying and bleary eyes. It could wait until she fully regained her sanity.

She thought about poor Alec and Wil, Finnick's family. At first she had thought that anything would be better than the cold dread of waiting for the Games to start, but she was wrong. This worry mixed with hope mixed with fear and uncertainty was indescribably more painful. The possibility of Finnick returning had increased, but it was the not knowing that could drive a person mad. It was so cruel to give them this hope, while they full well knew it could be taken away from them. She wondered how much time they had spent watching. The last time she had visited, Alec's eyes had been bloodshot and Wil was nowhere to be seen. Was he always so silent and solitary, or was this just his way of coping of the probability of his brother's death?

It was strange, she realised, that she had heard hardly anything about Wil from Finnick. She supposed that he wouldn't come up a lot in conversation, but still he was Finn's brother and he barely spoke of him. Finnick seemed to be the odd one out in their family, impulsive, yes, but also with a certain spark of life that Alec and Wil seemed not to possess. Or maybe they had possessed it, but had lost it. They were older.

Annie crossed over to the dining room, attracted by the aroma of dinner and sounds of cutlery. Her stomach grumbled. When had she last eaten before Roger brought her that mango? She struggled to remember.

Ayla and her grandmother looked up from the table where they had been conversing and eating quietly so as not to wake her. She must have looked quite terrible judging by the way they both looked at her.

"Come on Annie, have something to eat."

Ayla got up and went over to the stove with a clean bowl, where a broth seemed to be steaming. A single, pathetic roll of bread sat on the dinner table cut up into three pieces, and Annie recognised this as one of those days where food was scarce. _Of all the days for it_ Annie thought as her stomach twisted pathetically. It was her own fault, of course, for not taking advantage of food on days when it was abundant, and now having to pay the price for it. Ayla had emptied the contents of the pot into the bowl. If this didn't fill her, she would have to deal with it.

She sat down and began dipping her slice of bread into the soup and nibbling on it. Her stomach ached and felt knotted as she tried to eat and realised that she'd gone about a day with next to nothing. It was slow going and she took her time, trying to savour the food. When she finished she just felt sick and the hunger in her stomach made her want to groan. She held it in, _deal with it_. Ayla must have sensed something, because she passed her portion of bread over to where Annie sat. Annie looked up, trying her best to look full and content, and shook her head.

"It's fine, I couldn't eat anymore," she gave a small smile.

"No, Annie, it's ok. You're a growing girl. You need this more than I do."

"Honestly, I'm full," she rose and her stomach seemed to have unknotted. The apprehension of the Games remained in her chest however and now she just felt sick.

Nonna looked at her and also rose. She took Annie's hand.

"Come on, child, you should take a bath," she said gently.

Annie nodded and followed her to the back room in the house which held the tub. She heard the faint whoosh of the kettle in the other room, telling her that Ayla had turned on the kettle, as the even on good days the water that came from the chipped tap would usually only produce lukewarm water.

The bath finally seemed to clear her senses. She cleaned herself from top to bottom, scrubbing her face and washing her hair and drying herself with a stiff towel. She dressed in a makeshift nightgown which was actually just an oversized white shirt which reached her knees. She sat back down at the kitchen table and began working through the many knots in her hair. She felt a hand on hers and she turned to see Nonna there.

"Let me," she said.

And Annie once again felt like a child, having her hair brushed for her while she sat sipping tea that Ayla had made for her. It smelt something like chamomile, probably was, there was a small plant of it growing near their front step. The sweet drink soon made her eyes feel heavy once more and she let herself relax slightly as she let her Nonna's expert old hands gently work.

"You have such beautiful hair," she said. Annie's mouth almost twitched to reveal a smile until Nonna continued. "What a shame you never brush it."

Annie stayed silent. Brushing hair was one of those trivial things she never seemed to have time for. It usually just fell down her back in a dark brown tangles and she'd let it. She wasn't born with naturally silky smooth hair, what was the point?

"There that's better."

Nonna stepped back with the comb. Annie ran her fingers through her half dry hair and had nearly forgotten how it felt to not have dozens of scraggly knots in it.

"Thank you Nonna," she said quietly and kissed her on the cheek.

Annie's mind had wondered to Finnick and she knew she could wait no longer to find out what was happening. She rose and went over to switch the television on. It took a few minutes for his face to appear on the screen and by then Annie was growing restless. She stared at the screen. Many things had changed in the time she had slept. For one, Finnick seemed to be holding a trident. No doubt a gift from doting sponsors, and her heart soared with the knowledge that Finnick had a great deal of support. And two, he was alone, what had made him leave the Careers? Wait, no he wasn't. Dana's face appeared on the screen. It was dirty and somewhat bloody and it was clear she had not had the same luck with getting sponsors as Finnick had, and she looked injured, badly.

* * *

Finnick had found Dana completely by accident. He'd been walking through the swamp in the near darkness. Here away from the Cornucopia, there were parts of the Arena that seemed to look almost like they were alight with the faint glow of dawn. He had been walking through the swamp in the knee deep water. Maybe not the safest option, but what else was he to do? It was much too late to turn back. He couldn't stop until he was a safe distance away from the Careers. At least the water stopped them from being able to track him. But he was tiring, and he wouldn't be able to walk all night. He needed to find a tree or something to climb…

That was when he heard it, a faint whisper.

"Finnick?"

He spun around, looking left and right.

"Up here."

He looked up, trident at the ready to throw. But who he saw above him was not a foe. Dana was nestled in between some branches a fair way above him, almost entirely obscured by leaves. Had she not alerted him of her presence, Finnick would have walked straight past and not noticed a single thing.

"Dana?"

"Don't go that way," she said hoarsely, "He's there, the boy from seven I think, not too far away."

He looked in the direction she was motioning towards. It was pretty much exactly where he had been headed. "How do you know?"

Her eyes glinted with an expression he could not discern, "Come up." She said weakly.

While Finnick had hardly spoken to Dana during the days leading up to the Games, he did not hesitate. They were both from the same district. It was like an unspoken rule that she was no threat to him. There was an unspoken bond there, something unique to each district surely, the bond they shared which came from living near the sea. But why she had chosen to notify him of her hiding place baffled him, as it was a bit late in the game to be making new alliances.

He climbed for a few minutes, careful with his footing and making sure not to lose his grip on his precious trident. Once he reached her he found a thick spread of smaller branches and some larger which grew together the higher you went which made it easy to nestle in between them without risk of falling out into the swamp waters. He also noted that the stench of the swamp, which he had grown used to in the past – how many days had it been, six?

"Not with the Career's anymore?" she said.

Finnick shook his head.

"Seemed like the time to leave."

She replied weakly, "Nice trident."

Finnick said nothing, only now noticing her hands clutching her stomach. The small amount of light there was seemed to be glisten around them.

"Dana, what happened?" he crawled carefully over to her, clutching the branches, and settled beside her.

She shakily removed her hands, and with a small bitter smile said, "I told you, the boy from seven is over there."

Finnick was at a loss for words. He regained his consciousness and stripped off his pack and jacket, trying to begin to prepare a tourniquet for it.

"Don't bother," she said softly. "It's not use."

Finnick ignored her and unzipped her torn jacket, exposing the wound. She winced, and he held in the urge to vomit. The wound was a deep puncture in her abdomen, shining with blood. The tourniquet seemed unnecessary as it was hardly bleeding anymore.

"When…" he breathed.

"Not that long, a few hours," she replied grimly. "Bad, huh?"

"I've seen worse," Finnick tried, but his voice was not even slightly convincing. He was at a loss with what to do with the wound.

This drew out a short laugh, but it made her wince.

"Don't be stubborn," Dana said. Her voice was hoarse. "I'm a goner."

"No," Finnick said defiantly, "You're not. It has to be one of us, someone from Four, and it's too soon for it to be just me left, ok?"

"Finnick," she murmured, she closed her eyes for a few seconds. "Please don't." When she opened them her eyes were full of pain. "It was never going to be me."

She held a bloodied hand out to him, and he took it without question. He could see her paled, sunken face in the light and the gaunt look in her eyes.

"Can you just," her breathing was becoming weaker and weaker, "When you go back to four, my parents…" she trailed off. "Tell them…tell them I…you know?"

He nodded solemnly.

She continued, "That I tried really hard, and that I'm sorry and I love them." Her voice had lowered and it cracked as she spoke.

"I will, I promise," he assured her. What else could he do but abide by her dying wish?

"Thank you," she whispered, swallowing hard. "I'm so glad you came."

His hands shook, she was looking at him intently as she thanked him and as much as he wanted to he couldn't bring himself to look away.

"I didn't want to die alone."

Finnick didn't know what to say. He wished he had soothing words for her, something for her to cling to while the last few grains of life poured out from between her fingers, but nothing came to him. He was only fourteen, how could he ever possibly comfort a dying girl? Words had never been his forte, and this had never bothered him until now. He felt so inadequate, wishing that Dana could have a friend or family member here with her. But no, there was just him, the boy who had gotten expensive gifts from sponsors this whole time while she fought hard for the things she needed. She didn't seem to blame him, at least. They sat together, Dana now in a cold sweat. Finnick tried to give her some water but she could only take a few small sips. He didn't know how long he sat there, clutching her hand while trying not to listen to her raspy breathing. He didn't dare let go, as he was the last thing she had left to hold onto.

Finally the cannon fired, and he let her limp hand slip from his grip.

* * *

**Thanks for reading, sorry if it was poorly written/not that good. Let me know what you think.**


	12. Chapter 12

**All who have reviewed or messaged me are truly amazing. Feel free to point out any errors, i hope it was a good chapter. I don't own the hunger games.**

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**Chapter 12:**

Finnick was not sure why Dana's death had rattled him so much. Yes, she was his district partner, but they had hardly spoken, having not known each other before the Reaping. Since before the Games had even started he had accepted that for him to survive none of the other tributes, her included, could live. But it seemed so much more real in the arena. It could easily have been him, had he not been favoured by the sponsors. It was such a waste, such a waste a waste of life that Finnick felt sick to his stomach. He was one step, no, one _death_, closer to being victor, but at that moment it felt more impossible than ever. He reminded himself that the whole of Panem was watching, that he could not show any emotion. There was only one thing to be done now. He would go home. He would deliver Dana's goodbye to her parents. He would win the Games.

* * *

Annie watched, trying not to be too horrified, which was proving to be a difficult task. She was in the town square, and it had been two days since Finnick had broken away from the Career, two days since Dana's death, and this was it, the end. This would be the last day of the Games, whether the tributes liked it or not. It was down to Finnick and the girl from Two, Raya. There was a large crowd gathered in the town square, where images of the commentators in the Capitol, Raya, Finnick and the arena alternated in the large screen.

Annie stood with her grandmother's hands resting on her shoulders, beside Will and Alec. She hadn't seen Roger, but he would surely turn up sooner or later. Everyone wanted to see the end, they couldn't not. Ayla stood nearby with her arms crossed, eyes focused on the screen. The whole crowd seemed to move as one, each person's individual movements simply twitches of the flickering mass. There was a very real possibility of Finnick now being crowned victor, and the waiting was exhausting.

He and Raya, both of whom had been in the Career pack, had been underestimated by the rest of the tributes. If the Career's had ranks, they would surely have been down at the bottom. Rhys with his long daggers and machete and Willow with her beauty and cunning and sword skills shared by the powerful, crushing force that was Jed, had been the ones to watch. But each had fallen, Willow to the terror of the mutt, and Rhys to Raya's axe in his head as soon as he had turned his back. It had been surprising for some that the two giants from One and Two were not the ones left.

Raya had not been the one to kill Jed, of course, for they were from the same district. Annie shuddered to remember seeing his death, dealt by Finnick's hand. Her friend seemed less and less like the boy she had once known and much more like the cold, strategic killers which more or less dominate each Games. After Dana's death, a grim determination had descended and settled onto Finnick, she could see it in his eyes. The look that showed him determined to get this over and done with as soon as possible.

It turned out that the net he had spent his time and night watches weaving was not simply for passing the time. Of course, Jed had found this out much too late. Annie didn't know what to feel watching what Finnick did. It had been risky, returning to near where the Careers were camped, but clever at the same it. He would hunt down whichever one happened to stray in his direction. Submerged mostly by the water and hidden by leaves, he had watched as Jed waded through the waste deep swamp, sword at the ready, looking left and right.

He did not see Finnick go under soundlessly. He did not see Finnick paddling towards him underwater. He did not see Finnick rise up behind him and cast his net. The last things he would have seen would be twine flashing and the brown of murky waters obscuring his vision as Finnick's trident punctured so deeply into his back that the bloodied tip protruded through his front. He was dead within seconds.

At least it had been a quick death. Annie tried to comfort herself with this thought when she realised that Finnick stalking and hunting down another tribute was far different to his pity kill on the first day. A similar death had befallen the girl from ten, or was it eleven? She couldn't even remember. It was hard to think of corpses as people.

A moment of confusion, overwhelming panic pouring out from her eyes, and she was gone. It was somewhat a merciful death, but Annie couldn't help but see the net as a cruel death sentence, for becoming ensnared in that binding tangle of rope and being pulled backward into the water by Finnick's hand would not have been pleasant last moments. The similarity between Finnick casting his net and fishermen using theirs to ensure their catch did not escape was, for some reason, deeply disturbing.

It was afternoon and the sunlight was no longer harsh like midday. Instead the warm rays flooded down from the west and cast long shadows over the land. Annie looked over at Alec, and then at Wil. The light cast flickering shadows across his face as he turned to her. She tried to identify the look in his eyes. Maybe she could not put a name to it, but she understood. This was the end for one of the two tributes on screen. All they could do was hope and pray that it would not be Finnick's.

There seemed to be no need for the Gamemakers to drive the two together, as has been done in other years. Both seemed to somehow sense that the other was near. Raya had seemed to 'claim' the part of the arena surrounding the Cornucopia, killing the unfortunate tributes who wandered close in hope of an ambush. Her axe skill had proven lethal.

Annie bit down hard on her lip. Finnick had mostly been relying on his stealth and aim, but what would happen if he came face to face with her? She was eighteen, a fully-fledged volunteer from Two, slightly taller than he was. The cameras focused closely on his face, concentrating intently. If he was afraid, he was doing a very good job of hiding it.

She didn't seem to be hiding. She remained in the open area surrounding the Cornucopia, surveying her surroundings. He remained behind a tree, watching, waiting. He looked impatient, it was taking so long. She was walking around slowly, looking to see where he would come from.

"Come on, pretty boy," she called out tauntingly.

When she turned away from where he remained concealed after that comment, Finnick took his chance. It seemed to soon however, she was not close enough. The net was cast and entangled her, but between Finnick launching himself from his hiding place and poising his trident at the ready, she had managed to break free and tear apart the net. Their eyes met for a moment. He couldn't throw the trident, she could easily dodge and he would be left defenceless. What he did next baffled Annie.

He ran.

There were gasps and disbelief from everyone in the town square. He was _running_ from the showdown?

But Annie soon realised what he was doing. He wasn't running from her, but leading her into the waters. If he could make it to where the water was chest, even waist or hip deep, he could once again have the advantage.

And she fell for it, following him, wading and splashing into the water.

What followed was quick and frightening. Finnick dove under and seemingly disappeared. Raya stood there, frozen, knowing any movements she made would give away where she was. Annie held her breath. The whole of District 4 held their breath. Ten seconds passed. Twenty, thirty, a minute must have passed.

Then like some sort of sea beast, Finnick burst from the water her, trident in hand, and lunged.

She turned, and they met, crashing into the water. An axe was swung and a trident thrust and for a few painfully terrifying seconds it was impossible to tell whose blood was flowing into the water surrounding the two. Then Finnick's face rose to the surface and became clear and Raya's corpse was floating right next to him. He was panting, eyes looking left and right, the water and the blood of his adversary pooling around his chest.

Could he have possibly survived?

"_Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you, the victor of the 65__th__ Hunger Games!"_

* * *

It was not like he had expected it to be.

Finnick hadn't thought much about what winning would be like. All he had thought of was the actual task of winning in order to survive, in order to go home. But he had assumed that he would be joyful, exhilarated.

At the least, he thought he would feel relief.

But none of this came. All there was confusion and utter exhaustion that an entire day's sleep did not cure. All that he felt was tired and weak. It was like during his time in the arena he had been running on a constant adrenaline rush, hardly sleeping at night, unable to feel tired during the day. Every second of every minute of every day was spent desperately trying to stay alive.

Time began to seem irrelevant. What probably would only have been two or three days felt like weeks of constant waking and being drawn back to the abyss of sleep. He would often wake to see Capitol people in white robes standing near him, but their words sounded far off and distant, each sound meshing into one incomprehensible blur. It was like he was drowning, living in this half dream state, unable to think, unable to live. The light from the surface glimmered near him but each time he reached for it to try and break through it became impossibly far.

His eyes flickered open. This time was not so painful, however. His skin did no longer sting, merely tingled lightly in some places. His muscles no longer screamed each time he tried to move, and the dull, thudding ache in his bones and legs seemed to have passed. This waking felt different, it felt more definitive. It suddenly occurred to him that surely the needle after needle placed in his arm must have had something to do with it.

He squeezed his eyes shut tightly then reopened them. Cautiously, he tested each limb to see if everything still worked the same. Toes, yes, feet, yes, fingers, hands, arms, legs, neck, face, all of it was intact. His hand subconsciously went to his leg as he remembered that razor sharp axe digging its lead heavy head into his thigh. He lifted the blanket tentatively and saw only the faintest, thinnest pink scar stretching across where the wound had first occurred. He stared at it in wonder.

"They do a good job, don't they?"

He had not noticed Tarkin at the door. When had he come?

"Yeah, I guess so," Finnick mumbled absentmindedly.

He heard a shuffling outside of the door and soon the figure of Mags appeared near him. She wore that same gentle expression as before, but there was no pride in her eyes. For some reason this assured him. He let her pat his hand with her withered old one. Her expression was that of gladness, of relief.

"You did it, boy," she said. "How do you feel?"

Finnick did not think before suddenly groaning. "I'm starving." He caught himself though and quickly added, "Better, though."

Mags smiled and Tarkin even let out a chuckle.

"We'll take care of that, there should be food coming soon."

He nodded, swallowing down his hunger.

"How long have I been under?"

"This is the third day after the end of the Games," Mags answered him. "You lost a lot of blood from that cut, you know. Thigh wounds can be very dangerous. And they had to feed you and give you all the nutrients you lost. There's only so much stale bread can give you."

"Oh."

There wasn't much to say. He looked up to see Tarkin leaving without saying a word, but Mags stayed and pulled up a chair next to his bed.

Mags spoke without him saying anything. "It's not your fault, and he doesn't blame you," she said quietly. "With Dana, I mean. That was a very kind thing you did for her."

Finnick shook his head, "I didn't…I didn't do anything."

Mags gave him a small smile, "Of course you did. Many people aren't as lucky as she was, in that they have to die alone. You're the only person who could come close to being what she needed there."

They stayed silent for a while, Mags twiddling her thumbs. Food came in on a tray for Finnick and despite how ravenous he was he ate slowly, not wanting to feel ill. Once he had finished he pushed the tray away and leaned back, suddenly worn out again from doing nothing.

"Mags?" he said tiredly.

"Yes, dear?"

"When can I go home?"

How pathetic he had sounded, like a child, but he didn't care. All he really wanted was to forget about this horrible place with its strange smells and cruel games and total bizarreness and see Annie and Wil and Roger and his father again.

"Soon, I promise."

* * *

The entire district was in an uproar. There was cheering and shouting and yelling and clapping and cries of joy. Annie had not remembered the last time there was a victor, but she thought she may have been about six when it had happened and then not watching in the town square. This was something very different. Pride was worn on so many faces. There was a victor from District Four this year.

She couldn't help herself when she jumped up and her mouth fell open in a mixture of joy and amazement. She wanted to shout and cry all at the same time. He was alive, he was _alive._ Thinking back on the day before the Reaping, the Reaping itself, watching the Games and feeling sick with anxiety she couldn't have felt more relieved that he would be coming home. She turned to her left and saw Roger there and caught up in the celebrations the two hugged. Pulling apart Annie saw her own happiness reflected in his eyes.

She was surrounded by a blur of happy chaos. She looked at Finnick's family and saw that father and son standing there, unable to speak, simply smiling weakly but radiating delight. There were people clapping and yelling and patting Alec on the back saying how well Finnick had done, but she knew that all Alec cared about was that his son would soon return home safe.

But would he be the same?

Annie could not help but think this now, only minutes after the celebrations had started. Despite how little she wanted to, she began wondering if 'Finnick Odair the Victor' would be the same boy as 'Finnick Odair her best friend'. Only friend; confidante; companion. She hoped with all her heart this was the case.

* * *

Two days later Annie arose to find a package wrapped carefully in soft white paper. She unwrapped it carefully to find a wooden box and a note.

_Annie_

_For your birthday_

_Love Nonna Aunt Ayla._

Overnight she had completely forgotten about her birthday. There had been a faint trace of remembrance as she drifted on to sleep, and then it had flitted away to be replaced by more important thoughts. It had never been something so exciting in their household, a birthday. Her family would give presents whenever possible, but they all had everything they really needed, and when money was too sparse so that they could hardly ensure three meals a day for all of them, gifts in their part of the district were somewhat of a rarity.

This was why Annie gasped at the ten beautifully dyed rolls of tapestry yarn the simple box held. The colours she normally wove with were dull and dyed with the juices of fruits and the like. Something told her that the colours of these however, were made from real dyes, like those concocted in the Capitol. It must have been Ayla, as Nonna's hands had grown sore with arthritis and age, who had woven the yarns. Annie dared not think about how much they must have saved to pay for them. She carefully closed the box and set it on her bedside table.

* * *

**There we go, chapter twelve finished. If you have the time let me know what you think, your reviews are very much cherished.**


	13. Chapter 13

**All my love goes out to you subscribers/favouriters/reviewers. My exams are finished but I am currently slugglish and braindead from all that studying, still I aced French so it was worth putting the writing on hold. I don't own the hunger games.**

* * *

**Chapter 13:**

Annie sat with her legs drawn to her chest, the position she had always found most comfortable. The exhausting worrying and fear of the Games had passed but in its place a throbbing uncertainty had arrived. Tomorrow was the day Finnick would return, tomorrow…

But tonight, the final thing he had to complete in the Capitol was his interview. She watched as he walked onto the screen, smiling and charming with just the right amount of self-assurance so as to appear confident, but not overly cocky. Oh, how good he was at this.

He'd been cleaned up since the Games. He looked healthier, stronger, and his skin had adopted that strange golden glow as in his first interview. His hair, eyes and teeth shone. No wonder he had managed to rake up so many sponsors, combine his natural good looks with the Capitol's impeccable styling techniques, he outshone everyone in the room. _They can think what they like_ Annie thought to herself. That smile he wore still made her sick to her stomach.

He and Caesar bantered for a bit, but because the recap of the Games had to cram several days' worth of television into that one viewing, they didn't have a lot of time. Annie was thankful for this, hearing how his voice had changed was messing with her brain. It was like it wasn't even him there.

* * *

The recap was the worst part. After being doped up for days, the adrenaline triggered feeling of sweaty palms and a racing heart was almost too much for Finnick to handle. He wiped his hands on his pants and bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth and nostrils. It stung, but it somehow helped. He watched breathlessly as the other tributes died, and nearly felt like passing out as he watched himself spear and kill other tributes.

There were things he hadn't before seen, the panic in their faces, fear stricken and silent, torturous pleas rising to their lips with no hope of escape. He, at only fourteen, had become a murderer.

And they loved him for it. Suddenly it became so much harder to answer the few questions Caesar asked him. He barely heard them, and when he spoke it was as though someone else entirely was controlling him. He'd be home tomorrow, just finish this, just finish this and that would be it. The voices battled in his head, but watching from here it was even harder to justify what he had done.

_You had to do it, you had no choice._

_But that doesn't make you any less of a monster._

* * *

The train ride seemed unbearably long, but far more pleasant than the one to the Capitol. No, he was not riding to his almost imminent death, but the uncertainty remained like a shroud. There were so many questions about what would happen when they returned. Finnick looked at his hands, to ensure the blood he felt on them was just in his head. But surely everyone else could see it, feel it, smell it, just as he could. Its presence was overbearing.

He sat in a delicately decorating carriage, donned with comfortable chairs, a coffee table, ornately decorated vases and soft, white, flowing curtains. He sat quietly alone, and no one disturbed him. He stared out of the window, wondering who owned the ever changing land that rolled on past, whether it was the Capitol, or a district, or maybe just the wilderness. He wondered if running out there would make him clean. If he were to live in a place where no one knew his name, would he still be a murderer? Surely not.

Unfortunately, no such a place existed.

He closed his eyes. No, he was not unhappy, but it was hard to feel anything but guilt for now. That must be passing soon, though, right? He thought of all the good things to come. His mind wondered to the soft sand, the gently undulating waves, his new, larger home, seeing his family, seeing Annie, seeing his friends. He realised he would never have to labour tirelessly on his father's boat, as they would forever have enough money to get by. A smile crept onto his face as he thought that he had obtained the chance to finally ensure that Alec and Wil would no longer have to do the backbreaking work they did nearly every day. They would never go hungry again.

"What are you thinking about?"

Mags had shuffled into the room and Finnick only just noticed her presence. She sat down on the seat across from her.

"Just thinking about home," he said with a small smile.

She shared his smile.

"Yes it will be good to be back," was all she said.

Something dawned on Finnick.

"I'll have to mentor now."

How had he not already thought about this?

Mags nodded slowly.

"Yes, yes you will. Not for another Games or two though, you're only fourteen," her brow furrowed, "I believe the starting age is sixteen for mentoring. This isn't very often an issue, though, so I can't be sure. You're one of the youngest victors ever, you know."

He nodded, swallowing hard and only just began to appreciate what Mags and Tarkin and the other victors did. It was such a cruel fate, to come out of the Games and Capitol and their utterly freaky customs, only to have to return, again and again. Finnick tried to calculate. If he did every third games for the rest of his life, say sixty years, that would be twenty games. Twenty games meant forty kids. How many of those would he manage to save? At least half would die, as there had to be only one victor, and of the twenty that remained surely he couldn't save all of them. The odds would never be in their favour.

They weren't in anyone's.

* * *

Finnick stepped out of the train and the wall of sound washed over him in a wave. More people than he had ever seen in his district, except at the reaping, of course, had gathered to greet him on his return. He blinked and remembered to put on his winning smile, which didn't seem as hard here as before in the Capitol. He waved and smiled and had no chance to do anything else. All that he could here was the cheering and clapping and chanting of his name over and over again.

His eyes searched for familiar faces, the faces in particular of those who were close to him. He saw his father's face among the sea of others and in his eyes a happiness and relief like no other radiated. Next to him stood Wil with a girl he somewhat recognised. He was wearing his usual small smile, but Finnick could see that he was glad, even proud. They had never been as close as most brothers, with their almost six year age gap and completely contrasting personalities. There had been times where Finnick had felt by both his brother and father, alone, ostracised, so very different. That was when he would miss his mother. If he was alike to her, how could they have loved her as much as they seemed to have?

His eyes flickered once again into the indistinct mass, and after weary searching he caught sight of Annie's face. In her expression he found the same uncertainty which had haunted him for days. His stomach dropped to see her lack of enthusiasm in comparison to everyone else.

It had taken a few seconds for her to register him looking at her. Annie had been searching his face, his stance, for any signs of change. He looked stiff, but maybe that was because he had been forced to stand in front of all of these people, or had been sitting on a train for so long. His face was certainly smiling, but what about his eyes? She suddenly caught his gaze and began beaming. His expression changed for a second as he smiled back at her, softening slightly, but then he looked away and continued waving and grinning at the rest of the crowd. She didn't realise that he was still to be wary of the cameras filming his arrival.

* * *

It was a Friday, the weather mild for this time of year, but still quite warm. Finnick had returned two days ago and the celebrations and excitement had died down. Things would be good for a whole year, though, with extra food packages coming in to feed everyone. There would not be an empty bellies for a while, now.

Annie didn't want to intrude on any 'family time' that the Odair's may be having, never wanting to get in the way. And they had been moving from their old, worn down cottage situated by the sea side to a mansion in Victor's Village with an oceanic view. The pale coloured houses rose high above the ground, two stories, and uncommon sight even for the wealthier members of the district. They lined the beach down past the docks, where they were not too far from town, but where not as many people lived. They could be alone, undisturbed, out of the way.

Annie didn't want to wait any longer. She wanted to be with Finnick again, to explore the endless wonders of the rock pools, to wander through the town, to go swimming or looking for sea caves and talk to the one person she trusted more than anyone.

He had a gate now, a white fence with a gate and perfectly kept garden even though no one had lived here before him. The house was made of stone and while unfamiliar looking, must be very comfortable to live in. The path was cobbled stone, and as she walked up it she felt extremely out of place. Most of the district was sand, grass or dirty concrete. The entire street was lined with trim houses, but at the same time seemed like somewhat of a ghost town. She seemed to be the only person out right now. It seemed strange at eleven in the morning. Then again, victors wouldn't have anything to get up early for.

She gave the door a tentative knock. There was no answer, so she knocked louder. She was almost ready to turn around, resolving that the entire household must be out somewhere, when it swung open. Wil greeted her.

"Hi, Annie, it's good to see you," He didn't step aside, however, to let her in.

"Hi Wil," she said, "Finn home?"

He hesitated.

"Yeah, but maybe you should come back another time, he hasn't been…well."

She looked at him questioningly.

"What do you mean?"

Wil shook his head, "We can barely get him out of bed, maybe you should come back another time."

Annie simply ducked under his arm and went inside.

* * *

Finnick didn't know what had happened. He couldn't understand it. He thought that he would easily be able to just go through the motions, but there seemed no motions to go through. Everything seemed dumb, pointless. What had the Capitol done to him that had left him able to complete entire interviews, make it through the train rides and the celebrations he was for to attend? Whatever it was, it had worn off. Rising out of bed seemed totally impossible.

Maybe it was the nightmares. Now that he was no longer doped up, these had caused his first night at home to be the most horrifying in all of his existence. His hands were constantly surrounded with pools of blood, and in each corner lurked the mutt beast which could very well have ended him. The faces of each tribute, regardless of whether or not they had died by his hands, had been burned into his memory. Every night they had their revenge on him for being the one who survived, and there was nothing he could do about it.

In this bright, dreamless sleep he found peace. The day time brought a safety the night seemed to extinguish. His reverie was broken however, with his door being knocked open. Wil had learned by now to stop barging in by now, but Alec obviously was still persisting.

"Just another day," he mumbled, "I swear, I'm so tired…"

"No," the voice said, "Finn, get up."

That wasn't his father's voice. His eyes flickered open and Annie was standing there with her arms folded across her chest.

"Annie?" he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you," she answered, giving him a strange look.

He didn't move out of bed.

"Come on, get up," she ordered simply.

He just stared, and annoyance flickered through her.

"It'll soon be midday, now come on, get up," she urged.

He shook his head.

Her uncertainty had been about how Finnick would treat her from now on. As silly as it was, she couldn't help wondering if the adoration he had received from the Capitol would go to his head, as it did with some people. Would he, now a victor, one of the most respected members of the District, be too good for her now?

What she hadn't been worried about, was this indifference, in this sluggish hopelessness. She remembered seeing all sorts of things happen to previous Victors, alcoholism, morphling addiction, deep states of depression or even insanity. She hadn't considered any of these things happening to Finnick, he had always seemed so together, even in the interviews and on his return.

No, she would not have any of those things happen to him. He would not waste away indoors, turning some sickly yellow colour and taking no interest in anything. He had to get up, start living again. She would take him to the ocean, she decided. Everything would be better then, she told herself.

But she had to remind herself that no one is ever the same after the arena.

"Dammit Odair, don't be lazy. Now get out of bed," she snapped, her tone changing to one harsher than she had expected.

She was about to apologise when he looked at her, but something seemed to spark within him, and he gave her a crooked smile. He didn't know where it had come from, these past two days he had felt like a completely different person in this new house. His room was nice, but far too new for his liking. He never thought he would miss that lumpy old mattress and the grimy window, with the sound of waves nearby to ferry him off to sleep. Annie had brought back that old joke between them, back from when neither would have considered the other one a good enough friend to call by their real name.

"Gee Cresta, don't rush me," he said, eyes glinting in amusement. He sighed, "Now get out so I can get changed."

She obliged and went to wait for him down stairs in the living room. They were not short of furniture, but there was something about it that made it obvious that they had only recently moved in. She found Wil downstairs just leaving.

"Any different?" he said, clearly anticipating a 'no'.

"He's out of bed," she replied.

He looked mildly surprised.

"It took us until the afternoon yesterday to get him to do that, and he didn't do much that day," he shook his head. "Anyway, I'll see you later, I've got to go now." And he left.

To do what, Annie had no idea. Surely he and Alec would not still be working the backbreaking work they had previously done out on the boats? She then reminded herself that they still had lives. She knew it must be a relief to no longer have to labour out in the sun nearly every day for the rest of their lives, but what would they be doing now?

He departed and not long after that Finnick came in. His grin had disappeared and he once again looked tired eyed. It was as though he had aged by many years, and wore an expression that Annie saw many adults, including her aunt, often wear. It was that resigned expression, but resigned to what?

The aura between them was strange. Annie had expected both to be bursting with delight upon their reunion, but then realised how foolishly naïve she had been. It had left her unprepared for this cool distance, something she and Finnick had never shared, even before they knew each other.

They walked side by side along the beach, up to their bay, which was now an extra five or so minutes away. Annie fiddled with her woven bag as she walked, trying to decipher his manner. They didn't speak for a long time, and their lack of words hung as heavy as the hot air. Unlike their usual silences, both seemed to be waiting for the other to start talking. Annie bit her lip. Congratulations didn't seem in order.

"It's a nice house," she commented.

Finnick said nothing. Annie didn't blame him.

"What was it like?" the words slipped out mindlessly.

What a stupid question. What did she expect him to say, that it was fun, that he had the time of his life? She regretted it immediately. Finnick shot her a warning look.

"I don't want to talk about it," he said, stiffening.

She nodded biting her lip, but he went on.

"Sometime I forget that it was even me," he said quietly. "It's like it happened to someone else. I wish it happened to someone else. But then I don't because I'd never want to push this onto someone else." He kept going and going, the words tumbling out. He couldn't stop himself, the knot inside was unravelling, but at much to fast a pace. "And I think I'd be fine except now it'll never be over, will it?"

He turned to her and she didn't know what to say.

"You're out Finn, it's done," she tried to reassure him.

"There's the victory tour," he answered.

"Where all you have to do is smile and wave and go where they tell you to go and it's done. It's in a few months anyway," she said, "Besides, they love you."

"Yeah, they love me," he spat out the words. "Me the victor, me the soon to be mentor, me the murderer."

Maybe it had been the wrong thing for her to say.

"You're not a murderer," she insisted.

He looked at her with a pained expression.

"How can you say that?" he said, his voice softer now.

They had climbed the hill and stood on the top. It rolled down gently and the tough, springy grasses gave way to sand. They stopped for a second to look down at the bay which neither had visited for what seemed like ages. It looked the same as usual, the sand forming soft tiny ridges from the wind, the ocean caught in its predictable ebb and flow, the cliff to their left towering over the more distant waters and the rock pools that teemed with all sorts of treasures glimmering in the sun. As he admired the lovely little bay, he felt for the first time that a creature like he did not belong in a place so pure.

"Because it's not fair," Annie said gloomily. "You did what you had to, to survive."

"I didn't have to kill them," he said hoarsely.

"Well someone else would have," she said, trying to be logical and keep her voice steady. "And if it had been one of the monsters from two, it would have been a lot worse. You saw what they did."

He swallowed. He had seen what the other Careers did, both when he was with them and whatever had been left on the recap. It was monstrous, brutal, and it could very well have been him that had been decapitated or severed limb by limb. They had walked onto the sand and Finnick stopped, avoiding Annie's gaze when she turned to him.

"You survived Finn, that's all."

He looked conflicted, saying nothing. She didn't realise that all of them, all of the victors, were monsters.

"Can we just…" he said, "Just…"

"Ok Finn," she nodded, not wanting to have him go distant again. They would not speak of the Games. "No more." She promised.

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed, I'm sorry most of my writing happens late at night so I apologise for the poor quality. Let me know what you think.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Earlier update than usual, I hope you enjoy it. All of you reviewers are wonderful people, I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to reply to them this week. I don't own the Hunger Games.**

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**Chapter 14:**

Finnick knocked on the hard, wooden door for the second time. His fingers rubbed against splinters but he ignored it.

The door opened halfway, and before him stood a sturdy looking, unshaven man. His eyes narrowed, and Finnick swallowed, wondering why it was him that had been assigned this task. If he was Dana's family, would he hate him? Probably.

"Hi, sir," he said, stumbling on his words, unsure of what to say. "I'm...I um just came to give you, to bring you this."

The man's face relaxed slightly as he rummaged through his pocket and pulled out a small pouch.

"It was her district token," Finnick explained, "We thought...well, you should have it."

His heart slammed itself against his ribcage with the force of a caged beast.

Dana's father reached his hand out to take the pouch from his grip. The gentle nature of his movement seemed uncharacteristic in contrast to his large stature and rough appearance.

"She said to tell you, I don't know if they showed it..." Finnick trailed off, and he could feel himself rambling, to try and get the words out quickly and never have to face this man and family ever again. He was a coward, he was such a coward. "Well, she loves you." There was silence between them. He then added quietly, knowing he wouldn't really get the chance to tell him ever again, and feeling that he should say something useful. "She was really brave."

And he turned to walk away.

"Thank you," the voice croaked from behind him.

* * *

He was so confused, he didn't know what to think, what to feel about anything anymore. Anytime he felt bad he attempted to logically reassure himself about everything that had happened to him. Then every time he felt something close to relief a storm of guilt would sweep over him. Then disgust, then a deep resentment for the Capitol and all that they have done. He found himself with days and days of free time with nothing to do, which he had secretly yearned for before when there never seemed enough time to do anything he wanted.

But being with his friends was different. They still had to work on the boats now, with many of them turning fifteen and a great deal of their time being preoccupied with that and other things. He felt himself and his old friends drifting apart. He felt himself being held at a distance. Now he was a victor, someone to be revered, yet at the same time, no, feared, maybe? It was unclear, but he was sure that that was the only way to explain it. They just didn't understand.

Not like Annie, who still held that special quality of being able to fathom and discern what he was feeling when even he himself could not. Finnick found himself wondering what it must be like to see the world through Annie's eyes, to see the way in which even hopeless cases can be fixed. To see those little things in people that have become so lost inside their being that even they themselves do not see it. To constantly carry a spark of hope and empathy wherever she went.

He found the time he spent with Annie to be almost therapeutic. It must also have something to do with the bay, because their visits there seemed to muffle out the screams and snarls which remained embedded in his memory. It was her idea to teach him how to net.

"What's the point?" he asked bluntly as she tugged some knotted cord out of her bag.

"To keep your hands busy," she replied.

She had glanced over and her gaze had hovered over to his hands. His nails had been bitten to the bone, and she realised that she could benefit from tying knots as much as she could. Little did he know how helpful it could be.

"What happens when I'm done?" he asked.

"I'll tell you that when you're finished. It won't be for a while."

Finnick was surprisingly attentive when she explained and showed him how to make the net. His hands deftly picked up the knotting technique and in no time at all he had begun the net. Annie carefully pulled her only recently started tapestry out of her bag, the one she had begun making with her new threads. She had picked the image carefully, making sure it would be something to compliment the especially beautiful blues and greens she now had at her disposal.

"What's that?" Finnick looked over from his own simple knotting.

"It's a tapestry," she replied, without looking over from the board and needle.

"What's it for?"

A small smile crept onto Annie's face.

"Nothing, it's pointless, but they're lovely," she said, "You sort of weave the threads together to make a picture. You'll see when it's done."

"Oh," there was a pause, "When will it be done?"

She shrugged.

"Depends how much time I have," she said, "It's not too big, a few weeks or so."

They each continued for a while, until Annie set down the unfinished work.

"It's too hot," she said wearily, "I'm going swimming."

That past week the temperatures had soared, a heavy humidity descending on the District. It was hard to tell whether it was worse to be inside or outside. Finnick nodded his agreement, feeling his hands going sweaty with the heat.

"I'm coming too."

Annie took off her skirt in blouse so that she was just in small shorts and a singlet. She made straight for the ocean, feeling delight as the water cooled her nearly sizzling skin. She waded out until she neared the drop and dove, the water rushing past her, surfaced and blinked away the strong light. It certainly had been a relief to be able to swim and not have to just endure the intense heat like she had before. She felt suddenly sorry for all the fish-mongers, who would no doubt be slaving away under the unrelenting sun.

Finnick emerged from the water a few metres away from her and splashed her. She glowered at him as she coughed and spluttered gracelessly. He was grinning.

"You're not funny, Odair," she scowled at him.

"I know, I'm hilarious," he said, "_Cresta."_

"Shut up."

She splashed him back lightly. He kicked back to lie on his back, while she dove again and again to feel along the sand for any particularly interesting or pretty shells, or maybe some sea glass. She seemed to be having no luck this time, for every time she rose she would find the shells plain or broken. Once, though, she felt the strangest twinge of sadness tossing them back. They couldn't help it they didn't shine so bright. In fact, that's probably how people saw her.

_Stop being stupid, they're just shells_. And she nearly scoffed at how ridiculous she could be when she gave herself too much time to think.

* * *

In the water Finnick had transformed into a completely different boy to the one Annie had had to rouse from bed earlier that day. He kicked, he dove, he splashed, he swam, and he'd disappear for what she swore were minutes at a time before breaking through the surface, gasping for air.

But back on land, be it from growing tired from the swimming or maybe just feeling solid ground beneath his feet, and with it the rest of the world around him, he grew quiet and slightly withdrawn. It was on that day Annie noticed the way which his eyes always caught the light. Now his eyes had dimmed to a dull glow, the way the sand may reflect the sun's rays, but before they had been breathtakingly elated, iridescent with the scattered shine of water which fell and was constantly being manipulated by shifting waves.

He seemed so much more grown up, like he had lost a year or two years or five after coming out of the arena. He settled himself down next to her on the sand and sat with his legs partly drawn up and his arms resting idly on his knees, fingers absentmindedly fiddling. She glanced over at them and saw his nails bitten to the bone.

She was used to listening. Finnick always had something to talk about, something exciting or hilarious to tell her which could make her laugh like nothing else. Or she would have something interesting to tell him, about the things she had seen happen in the market which not many other people saw, or something interesting that she might have read or heard. They, of course, had grown used to sitting in comfortable silences. Annie wondered if this silence would ever subside, however. It's not that she had nothing to talk about with Finnick, it was just that she didn't feel like any of it would matter. What did he care of some stupid happening in the marketplace, when he obviously had much more important things to think about?

She tugged at her tapestry, undoing a small mistake.

"Come on, there's something that I have to do," Finnick nudged her and rose to his feet.

She looked up at him, the sunlight behind him, and squinted.

"What is it?"

"We've got something to look for."

His eyes looked full of intention, so she stowed away her work and took his outstretched hand and pulled herself up, his skin warm and oddly rough as though he still worked out on the boats.

They walked back from the bay, over the hill back towards the town, Annie asking uncharacteristically few questions. Only instead of going to the town centre, they stopped up and veered left slightly, to the poorer section. Here Finnick took a turn to a place that Annie had only spent a short amount of time in.

"Your old house?" she asked.

He nodded, and bit his lip trying to remember a time when Annie had been here. As though reading his mind she went on.

"I came here a few times to watch… you know," she couldn't help feeling like talking about the Games had become taboo. Ever since their first day back together after Finnick's return, neither of them had ever brought it up.

"To watch the Games," he finished for her.

Annie turned to him to try and read his face, but found it blank, his gaze set straight ahead of him as his hands rested on the rotting, damaged wood of his former front gate. He didn't seem upset by the reminder of the Games. But, Annie thought to herself, just because they weren't talking about it doesn't mean that he wasn't thinking about it. She shifted her stare from his face to his abandoned house.

"Why are we here, Finn?"

He furrowed his brow, "There's something I've gotta find… come on."

He pushed open the gate without answering her and made his way into the house. She turned to take a look around at the nearby ocean and at the sun, which signified that the afternoon didn't have long to go before the end of the day. Still she turned and followed him into the house.

A lot of it actually remained intact, as the Odair's house in Victor's Village came with much of their new furniture. Still any photographs or personal belongings had been packed up, leaving the place feeling highly vacant. Finnick was pulling open drawers and cupboards – in the kitchen of all places.

"Finnick, what are you looking for?" Annie tried again.

"Look for a box," he said, without turning to her. He was searching around the dusty fireplace and the mantelpiece.

"Ok," she said unsurely, "What colour?"

Finnick paused just before checking a chest of drawers.

"Black," but then quickly adding, "Wait, no, brown, it's leather, I think…" He shook his head. "Doesn't matter, you'll know when you see it."

The look Annie gave him looked concerned but he ignored it. It wasn't in his new house, he had never been more sure of anything after searching everywhere, so it had to be here. The drawers were all empty, and so he left the small living room and kitchen and went into his father's room, the only other place it would be.

Annie didn't follow him at first, there was something disconcerting about watching him so distracted and intent. That was until she heard a loud bang from the room and she hurried in.

Finnick had kicked the chest of drawers in frustration and was desperately trying to think of where it could be. An idea occurred to him and he got onto his knees to look underneath the bed, his hands feeling in and around it, only to be sorely disappointed. That was until his finger felt a gap, and he stopped for a second. Slowly, he felt the gap, slipping his fingers in between the boards and tugging. It came up. He pushed it to one side and put his hand in the hole, his fingers grasping the box, which apparently was made of wood. He pulled it out and set it on his lap, sitting on the ground with his back against the old, dust covered bed.

"What's inside?"

Annie settled down behind him and peered at the box as he opened it.

"Pictures," he said quietly, and drew out the top photo.

It showed a woman with blonde hair smiling warmly, her eyes alive with a glow familiar to Annie. She didn't need to ask to immediately realise that it was Finnick's mother. She glanced over at Finnick, not thinking of anymore questions except for wanting to know what he was thinking. Unfortunately, those green eyes had now become well accustomed at hiding everything, and she could find nothing in his expression as he stared at the photo, nothing at all.

* * *

**My brain = dead.** **I'm caught in the constant struggle of wanting to get enough of my writing done but wanting to make sure it's good, so most of the time this story just ends up being a bit of a mess. Anyway let me know what you think, I hope it was good enough.**


	15. Chapter 15

Here's chapter 15, some reviews would be greatly appreciated? (Not hinting at anything here). I don't own the Hunger Games.

* * *

**Chapter 15:**

Though puzzled as to why his father would not have taken the box with him, Finnick decided to keep it a secret, stowing it in his cupboard behind many of his clothes would not be found. The mental image of his mother reformed after years of straining and grasping at an old memory, and that old box with the warped wood became a symbol of comfort and of home.

His life eased into a steady rhythm and he grew accustomed to this new way of living, finding ways to fill his time so as not to constantly be idle. He found out that Mags lived across the road, and he found himself regularly paying her willing visits. He had grown fond of the old woman, who seemed to not have a great deal of relatives or family. He also liked her house better than his own, for after sixty or so odd years of living in the same place it had a homey atmosphere which he hoped would be attained by his own house one day. The herby smell which doubtless came from the tea she drank, similar to peppermint, was present in the main room.

Finnick descended the stairs to the living room one morning to find Mags sitting there with his father, talking like old friends. He hardly noticed the slightest smile creep onto his face when he saw them for his whole family, even including Wil, had grown fond of the old woman, and she of them, apparently. Maybe if Alec could learn to cook she'd be a dinner guest far more often.

"Ah, there he is," Alec's eyes fell on his son and Mags turned to face him. "And apparently he's forgotten about the existence of combs. I've got to go now, excuse me."

Finnick patted his hair down and held an arm up and goodbye as Mags bade his father farewell. Alec and Wil never seemed to spend much time in the house. Instead Alec had made a habit of helping out his old friends, regardless of the fact he had no need to, and Wil was out all day so often that neither Finnick nor his father questioned where he went anymore. Mags smiled her warm smile at him as he came down, but behind that smile lay purpose and he knew that this was not just one of her casual visits.

"Morning Finnick," she motioned for him to sit. "Or dare I say it's nearly afternoon."

"Hey Mags," he said, eying her wearily.

She did not delay or make with unnecessary small talk.

"I came just to remind you," she said, "About the Victory Tour, it's in a month. I assume you hadn't forgotten, but just in case."

Finnick nodded, "Yeah, I knew." What a lie, somehow it had completely slipped from his mind. "Gee Mags, you're acting like I'm the old one in need of reminding."

"Don't push it boy." But her tone was light and she looked slightly amused. "Well, you can never be too prepared. I'd also suggest looking into preparing your talent. Also I came to invite you to come for afternoon tea today if you'd like, at around four."

"Sure, I'll be there."

With that she got up and shuffled to the door, feet taking smaller steps than he remembered she used to. Finnick watched her leave and bit his lip. What was his talent? He pondered over it for a few seconds but then decided he would face that dilemma when the time came. Maybe Annie could help.

* * *

The market was busy that day, it was Sunday which for the fishermen meant a day off, but for the rest of the District it was the one day where the town was really full. Finnick moved slowly through a bustling crowd and was constantly being met with loud shouts from stall owners and interesting smells wafting from all around him. He spotted Annie's family's stall from a distance and was somewhat surprised when he noticed Roger there too. Annie was sitting behind the table with netting in her lap, looking up and chattering about something. He knew that they had gotten to know each other, but hadn't realised that they were actually friends.

She glanced over at him and smiled, calling out to him. As Finnick approached the stall Roger too turned to face him.

"Hi Finn," Annie said.

"Hey," why was there something so strange about seeing two people from opposite sides of your life standing side by side? It was the same as when he had found Annie had gotten to know his family while he was away.

"Hey Finnick," Roger greeted him. There was a split second of discomfort after having drifted apart, which Finnick may or may not have imagined, before he said, "So I've got to go now, just came to say hi, I'll see you later."

He spoke half to each of them, only slightly glancing at Annie before he left. Or did he? No, Finnick shook his head. He hadn't, of course, for he barely even knew her.

"Finn I have something to show you," Annie said excitedly.

"Not now you don't, I need those nets finished," Ayla remarked sternly over her shoulder as she reached up to grab something off one of the shelves.

Annie scowled.

"Later, then," she promised. "Are you busy now?"

Finnick shook his head.

"Want to help?" she asked.

"Sure," he said, "With what?"

"Not any repairing," she replied, "Just help me untangle this, would you?"

He took the seat beside her and began with pulling apart the massing pile of rope which had, apparently, once been a net.

"I don't know how he did it," she went on, "The man who brought it. Just dumped it here all tangled and blamed us on making a flimsy net, which is, well, you know. Still he didn't want to pay for a new one, can't afford anything except for us to fix it supposedly. If you ask me, it's more work for far less."

Finnick said nothing, but enjoyed listening to her talk about ordinary things. It had been hard, oh so hard to begin to slip back into a modified version of life before the Games. Slowly but surely, Annie had been one of the few people to come back to him, not faltering, not abandoning him, but helping him in her own unique way.

"What about you, any fun plans for today that I'm interrupting?" she asked.

"Oh yeah, I had a hell of a day planned, the highlight being having tea with Mags this afternoon," he said, "But no, this is fun."

She looked over at him to see if the last remark was sarcastic, but he appeared sincere.

"So what did Roger want?" he asked casually.

"Oh nothing, he just came to say hello," Annie said airily.

Finnick thought that for someone so smart and perceptive, it was odd that she'd noticed neither Rogers glance before leaving, nor the edge to his voice that Finnick was sure he had not been a good enough actor to contain. He did not know why it bothered him that they had become friends. Maybe it was since he and Roger hardly talked anymore, and he struggled to find an explanation for it.

"Do you see much of him?" she asked.

Finnick shook his head.

"Life of a victor," bitterness crept into his words. "I always wondered by Victor's Village was so empty, but nearly all of them seem to be alone. It's like they're scared of me, or don't have time to see me, or don't want to. We all end up alone."

"You won't end up alone," Annie said, and then hurriedly went on, "I'm sure it's not intentional."

"Yeah," he said. "I just remembered. I need your help. What's my talent?"

Annie blinked.

"What?"

"I need a talent," he explained, then said softly, "Victory tour's coming up."

Annie bit her lip. Finnick's disdain for having to return to the Capitol was impossible for him to conceal.

"I'll think about it," she vowed. "But I wouldn't worry about it. I mean God Finnick, you could just stand on that stage blinking for all they cared and it'd be enough."

He gave her a look, which was partly amused but partly asking her not to go on. Any reminder of those people made him feel sick and tainted to the bone.

"Done," she carefully folded the net and set it on the table. "Can I go yet?"

"Yes, fine," her Aunt replied, "Just be back by dark, ok?"

"Sure," and with that she nudged Finnick and they left the stall.

* * *

"What is it you wanted to show me?" Finnick asked as they meandered out of the markets.

Annie carefully inspected the small selection of taffy Finnick had purchased and popped a small piece into her mouth.

"It's at home," she said after chewing. "C'mon."

They made their way past the houses to near where Finnick had grown up. In one of the very poorest sectors of town they came to Annie's house, which while slightly dilapidated had flowers bursting from all parts of the surrounding earth. The yard had an earthy smell and before entering, as she often did, Annie picked several before entering and used one of the stems to tie them into a bundle. Finnick didn't even notice himself smiling as he watched her do this.

They entered and Annie told him to wait. He obeyed as she disappeared into one of the back rooms, emerging soon after holding something rolled up. When she unrolled it, it revealed the tapestry she'd been working on. She had stitched a picture of a lone ship, similar to the ones that would dot the horizon when they visited the beach, surrounded by swirling blue-green waters and an azure sky. Finnick stood looking at it silently, unsure what to say, admiring the work.

Doubt flickered across her expression.

"You don't like it?" she looked down at it.

"What?" Finnick finally remembered to speak. "No, it's great, amazing. Really Annie, I just had no idea you could do something like that."

She looked pleased.

"You can have it," she said, "I just need to find a frame to fit it."

"What? No, Annie, it's fine," he said, "You worked on it so long."

"Yeah," she said, shrugging, "I know, but just think of it as a late housewarming present. Anyway, enough of that, where to now?"

Finnick only just remembered his agreement with Mags and apologised.

"I promised I'd go to tea at Mags' at four," he explained, and then after a moment added, "You wanna come? I'm sure she wouldn't mind."

"Sure thing."

* * *

Mags' house was nice, except for the faint musty odour which seemed to be present all through her home. She didn't look at all surprised when Annie had arrived along with Finnick, and welcomed her in as though she'd been invited along as well. _It must be lonely,_ Annie thought to herself. Mags didn't seem like a victor, in fact now that she thought about it, none of the victors seemed like what you'd think they would. Despite the abundance that used to pour in from District 4 a few years ago when Tarkin and the like had won, Victor's Village seemed awfully bare.

Annie mostly sat and observed, not speaking a lot unless she felt she had something of any use to say. She was normally like this, Finnick realised. While some people spoke for the sake of hearing their own voice, he found he would listen just to hear hers. Still it did not go unnoticed how much more she would talk to him when they were alone.

"Annie, are you alright?" Mags turned to Annie and Finnick's eyes followed.

Annie's eyes snapped away from the table.

"Yeah, sorry," she said, "It's just, sorry I can't help feeling like I've seen that somewhere."

Finnick looked at the table and struggled to understand what she meant.

A strange expression crept onto Mags' face.

"Yes, it's strange that you might," the old woman said softly. "Your grandmother sewed that tablecloth, did you know that?"

Annie shook her head, admiring the work. Nonna never sewed anymore except to mend. In fact, she had only seen old things that she had made, durable but elegant pieces of clothing, for example, her reaping dress.

"Did you know her?" Annie asked curiously. "I mean, do you?"

Mags smiled softly.

"Yes, we used to be old friends. It has been some time though, I must admit." Her eyes lost some focus as her thoughts were stolen by memories. "And there was a time when that shop could afford to be much more than mostly nets, and people in the District could afford more than a piece of bread with their week's wages. And we thought that things were bad back then." She shook her head.

"What happened?" Finnick asked.

Mags looked him with an expression that made is clear that she was an old woman, and to her he was still a child.

"My dear boy, I fear time has robbed many things from us."

* * *

I'm sorry my brain is dead right now, hopefully everything in the chapter made sense and you all enjoyed it. Sorry sometimes my thoughts are simply a muddled mess. Reviews are appreciated and add motivation. I do try to reply to all of them.


	16. Chapter 16

**I don't own the Hunger Games.**

* * *

**Chapter 16:**

"I have an idea," Annie said as they sat down at the rock pools.

Winter in District 4 was not exactly cold, but the wind which blew from the sea, normally humid and warm, was now icy and water soaked. She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders to keep it away from her flesh, but it tugged playfully at her hair pulling her wavy brown hair out of place or sometimes lifting strands lazily. She tucked a lock behind her ear and went on.

"For the victory tour, I mean," she explained, "I thought of something you could do for your talent."

Finnick's eyes flicked from her hair to her eyes which were watching him carefully.

"Ok, what is it?"

She reached into her bag and pulled out a book.

"Poetry."

"Poetry?"

Finnick had heard maybe two poems in his whole life, while in school, and to be honest it had seemed like the most boring thing anyone could think of. He had not been impressed with the pathetic way the writer had rhymed simple words in a predictable manner. He doubted the Capitol would be impressed either. And for another thing, he had no idea how to write poems.

"Annie, for one thing, I have no idea about poetry."

She did not look put off, "I'll help you write it. Then all you have to do is read it in your most," she paused for effect and continued in her best impersonation of the cocky, seductive manner her had portrayed in the Capitol, "Finnick Odair voice."

Finnick couldn't help but laugh.

"I don't sound like that."

"Do too," she hurriedly tucked another lock of hair behind her ears, frustrated with the unrelenting wind.

"So what's with the book?" Finnick asked.

"It's a book of poems," she replied.

"I've heard poems before."

"Not like this you haven't," Annie said with a small smile. "Listen."

And she read him an old poem, eyes focused on the small, printed words on the book's tattered pages. It didn't rhyme like the usual ones, but flowed with a certain lyrical elegance, combined with the soft rise and fall of Annie's voice.

…_The caged bird sings  
with a fearful trill  
of things unknown  
but longed for still  
and his tune is heard  
on the distant hill  
for the caged bird  
sings of freedom._

"That's just one of many," Annie said, "But you get the idea." She paused for a second, as though deciding whether to add something. "It's one of my favourites, it was written so long ago, but things haven't changed."

She folded the book closed carefully

"I can't write like that," Finnick protested.

"You don't have to," Annie said, "All you need to do is write a couple short poems which the Capitol will love, read them in your best voice, then get out."

Finnick nodded, it seemed like a good enough plan.

* * *

And so those winter weeks came and went far too quickly, and before he knew it Finnick was being carted off to the Capitol again. _Just this once, _he told himself, _and_ _then it'll only be once every few years. A couple weeks out of three or so years isn't that much. It's not that much. It's not that much._

And true he was kept so busy all day with his many tasks during the Victory tour that while exhausted, he was never bored. This did not stop him from being frustrated however. It was an act of cruelty to force him to face the dead tributes district and family and friends.

"_Be brave,"_ Annie had told him just before he left "_You'll be fine_."

He said he would be, compared to the Games this was a party (and there were parties), but it was still hard. He wasn't brave, he just wasn't. He was a coward, for especially when he saw the families of the children from six and seven who were distraught, and Raya's family who were seething through their teeth, all he wanted to do was sink to the floor and let the ground swallow him like quicksand.

Taking a glance at himself on the screens, he had hardly recognised himself. He looked tall, he looked strong, he looked serious but neither sad nor upset.

The Capitol was the most exhausting part. At least he could just put up that shallow, cocky façade he had taken to hiding behind whenever he came into contact with those beasts. Maybe the Districts had been emotionally taxing, but this was simply irritating. He was constantly directed by young girl to giggling young girl to be introduced or to dance with. After a while he found it impossible to bear and excused himself to the bathroom before Selesta could track him down and introduce him to another Senator or Council member or entertainer or daughter of so-and-so.

He locked himself in a lavish bathroom stall and leaned against the wall, breathing in and out deeply with his eyes closed. It was his last night, he just had to get through this ball or dinner or party or whatever the hell the Capitol had decided to call this excuse to celebrate, and tomorrow he would return home. This thought comforted him and he braced himself for just a couple more hours of torture. He stepped out of the stall after washing his hands and face, making his way to the door. Before he got to it however it swung open and he subconsciously took a small step back as President Snow walked in.

His smile was one of malice and the look his eyes held suggested wicked thoughts. They were slits, and Finnick feared that if they grew any wider the evil would not contain itself and might just pour out of his eye sockets. It was him, it was all him.

"Finnick Odair, what a pleasure," he said, "I don't believe we've had a chance to talk tonight."

Finnick composed himself, hoping that he had not slipped up in his cool act.

"No, I don't believe we have, the pleasure is all mine," he shook his outstretched his hand, squeezing back as hard as Snow did and a bit harder, face unflinching. "I've had many a dance and thrilling conversation to engage in." He hoped to manage to keep the sarcasm out of his voice

"Yes, I've noticed, you're quite the crowd-pleaser, boy," those snakelike eyes did not leave Finnick's wide ones for a second, and he did his best to blink as little as possible. "Interesting."

Finnick let out a light laugh which almost came out strangled.

"Oh hardly," he waved it off, "If you would excuse me, President, I must be going, you know how busy it is, last night at all." He was so bold as to wink and made his way around Snow before he had a chance to keep him any longer. He just wanted to run, just wanted to get out of here.

"Yes, I won't keep you," he stepped aside to let Finnick walk out, eyes forever trained on him.

Once the door swung shut behind him, and he was standing alone in the dimly lit hallway Finnick released the shudder he had suppressed within himself. Music and chattering voices rose from downstairs, and he desperately wanted to leave.

What was Snow planning?

* * *

Finnick's train arrive the next morning before lunch time, and this time he felt genuine excitement and relief to be back. That was it, no more, he was finished. He let a grin spread to his lips and he felt his heart and insides warm as the tension he had been holding up inside of him was released. He had only had to read a few short poems, and when he had he even heard a small portion of the audience sigh. They clapped for him, not that he cared about it, but seeing Snow look approving had at least offered him some reprieve. He didn't have to worry about anything else now.

He helped Mags take her bag inside her house before going back home with his own things. His father greeted him warmly but did not embrace him, wary of the fine line Finnick now walked between boy and man.

"How was it?" Alec asked after they had taken his things to his room.

Finnick just sighed. "It's good to be home."

Then, unlike the last time he had made his return, he went straight visit Annie, going to her house instead of the markets first. The door opened and it was Annie's grandmother who answered.

"Hi, is Annie home?"

The old woman reminded him a lot of Annie as she glared at him, muttering something about strange boys visiting her house.

"Annie!" she called back and hobbled away.

He noted with some amusement and appreciation that Mags had not grown so bitter with her age. Annie came around the corner to the door and without hesitation hugged him, smiling. After a couple short seconds she pulled back, trying to hide her embarrassment.

"Sorry," she said quickly, realising how irregular the hug was between them

"It's ok," but Finnick hoped that he was just imagining himself blushing for some reason. "Anyway," he said slightly too quickly, "I thought I'd grace you with a visit."

She raised an eyebrow in mocking as they walked away and she shut the door behind her.

"To be honest I was having a perfectly good day until you turned up."

He laughed.

"So, on a serious not, how was it?" she asked him.

Finnick looked around, they were on the beach and there was no one around for a few hundred yards. Still he spoke quietly.

"Terrible," he confided.

She didn't speak, silently willing him to go on.

"It took me back to the Games," he explained, "And seeing the families, oh God, Annie, it was terrible. Je- The boy that I, I killed, and the girl from two, I couldn't even look at their families, I was pathetic. And I felt like such a liar, just walking around with my chin up, and they _loved _me for it."

"You had to Finnick," she said, somewhat bluntly. "You don't have a choice. What else are you going to do?"

He shook his head.

"I don't know, sometimes…" he didn't know, "I wish I hadn't killed them."

"You'd be dead."

"Maybe not, maybe someone else would…"

"No, Finn," Annie said firmly, "It was the only way."

And she put her hand on his shoulder, brushing it for only a second. Her touch was soft and calmed him slightly. He knew she was right, but it felt good to voice his concerns. Normally he would lose these arguments with himself, and he thanked Annie's stubbornness now.

"Thanks," he said, looking at her, but she didn't meet his gaze. "Still, they don't stop."

She finally looked at him.

"What doesn't?"

He looked uneasy as he replied, "The nightmares."

And she broke her eyes away, because that was one thing she couldn't help him with, couldn't help him with at all.

"What do you see?" she asked.

He shrugged.

"All sorts of things," his voice was dry now. "I see things from the Games, except it's all distorted. I can normally put up with them, but with the Victory Tour…"

He trailed off, remembering the things he had seem, the nights awaking in a cold sweat. It seemed this way that his sheets were always stained with blood.

* * *

**I don't know what's happening lately but I just can't write. I'm sorry for the quality, hopefully you still found it enjoyable.**


	17. Chapter 17

Thanks for all the lovely comments and for adding the story to your favourites/alerts. It's very motivating and I'm glad the story has been enjoyable for you! I'm on holidays now so fingers crossed for more regular updates. I don't own the Hunger Games.

* * *

**Chapter 17:**

The months past and winter eased its numbing grip on the District. Finnick had never noticed time before, never having anything to compare the passing of weeks and months too. The last time he had remembered counting was before his twelfth birthday, before he was eligible for his very first Reaping. But now, he noticed it pass with an alarming rate. _8 months since I was last in the arena, 9 months have passed, wow, I'm fifteen years old now, one month until the next reaping…_

Both Finnick and Annie held their breath at the next Reaping, Finnick now having no worries for himself, instead waiting with anxiety for Annie's name to not be called out. In fact, at this Reaping the two seemed to be behaving like polar opposites. Annie stood calmly, her old habits beginning to wane, whilst Finnick ground his teeth in apprehension. Her name wasn't called, he breathed a sigh of relief, but having been in the arena his entire body shook when he realised that while the torture was long over for him, for some it was just beginning.

Straight after the Reaping they escaped to the less frequently visited bay. It hadn't changed, it never changed, it was the one true constant in their lives, for not even the other had remained unaltered. They settled down on the sand so that the water which greedily licked up at their feet, missing it by inches. Here he told Annie about his realisation.

She sighed and began murmuring.

"It's been 66 years…23 dead a year…" she looked pained as she furrowed her brow in thought.

"What are you talking about?"

She shook her head and looked at him wanly.

"Finnick, at the end of this year, they would have killed over…1500 kids."

This number caused something to drop like a stone within him, his body stiffening.

"Annie, I'm part of that," he said softly. 1500 kids were dead in less than 70 years, and he could very easily have been one of them. No, he chose what he now realises is the worse option, the one that made him a monster.

She looked fierce, something uncharacteristic of her as she said, "No, Finn, how many times do I have to tell you that you're not?" Her expression softened as she said, "It's either that or be one of them."

He looked away, out at the horizon and mumbled, "Yeah, I guess."

Annie wished for nothing more than for him to believe her when she told him that.

* * *

It was strange how easy it was to block out these Games. Finnick tested his luck by escaping from the mandatory viewings, either sneaking out to visit the beach in the evenings or retreating to his room, tying knots, tying knots. He never let this up, his hands remaining rough but nimble, forever tying and knotting so that his time alone or in the dark did not drive him insane. The Games had affected him as much as anyone, no one who entered was young enough to not understand what was going on, yet maybe if her had been just a little bit older, maybe he would be stronger, more prepared for what he would have to do.

He felt so small in the dark after having nightmares, the only time he ever felt like a child, feeling like he could fit into every small space or gap or sink into every shadow in the room and disappear.

The days of the Games past and he tried to be relieved that it was all over once again, even though he wasn't even a part of it this time. He tried to ignore the thought which was clawing and scratching and nestling itself in his mind. In a year's time he would be partly responsible for the life of an unlucky soul who was to be reaped.

* * *

It had been a month since the Games finished, and in that time Annie had turned fourteen. She and Finnick met up early one morning, deciding to venture and explore the mostly untouched caves beyond their bay. They scaled the hills and Annie recognised the cliffs and beach which had blurred past her as she sprinted along after her first Reaping. She recalled her pathetic reaction with shame and kept quiet about it, not wanting Finnick to know how upset she had been after his almost certain death sentence.

They had been walking along the beach in silence for some time, Annie stopping occasionally to pick up a nice shell every now and then, when Finnick suddenly turned to her.

"Hey, guess what?"

The happiness his news had brought him was already transforming his expression into one of uncontained happiness.

"You know I can't guess," she replied. "What is it?"

"Wil's moving out," he said.

"Really, why?" Annie looked over at him, confused by Finnick's excitement.

"He's getting married."

Annie's eyes widened in surprise, "What?"

"I know," for some reason he looked amused, green eyes dancing with laughter.

"Since when?"

"He told us about it last night, we had hardly any idea that he was even seeing anyone," Finnick said, a grin spread across his face as he said, "You should have seen my dad's face, he dropped a plate as Wil told him."

Annie laughed.

"So who is she?" she asked.

"Ingrid Browning," Finnick answered. "Don't even ask me how Wil managed to get a girl like that, what she sees in him I don't know. Personally I didn't see it lasting, but guess I was wrong."

Annie racked her mind for a face to match the name and the face of a pretty girl with dark blonde hair came to mind. What little she had seen of Ingrid, she was one of those girls who were hard to forget, somehow almost always happy and full of life.

"That's fantastic, I'm happy for him," she said, smiling.

"Yeah."

Annie looked over to him as they continued walking.

"Are you going to miss him, you know, now that he's moving out?"

Finnick shrugged.

"No, I'll still see him," he said, hardly caring. "We were never really that close anyway."

"Really?" she assumed that Finnick not spending much time with Wil had something to do with that before the Games, he was already working and not at home. She had never actually questioned what things had been like when they were children.

"Yeah," he shrugged once more, unsure of how to explain it to Annie. She was an only child, she had no siblings. "We're just different, you know?"

Annie understood. She thought of Wil's quiet, reserved and hardworking nature in comparison to Finnick's almost erratic one.

"We were never extremely close, but we got along. We're still brothers. After my mother died, though, our whole family started splitting apart," the words poured out of his mouth. Thoughts and feelings buried long ago were now bubbling over the edge. "I was only five at the time, and no one talked about it. No one said a thing about my mother after she died, and when I asked Wil about it he didn't say anything either."

"So it was like she never existed," Annie murmured, only half referring to Finnick's mother now.

They reached a rocky slope which joined onto the beach, leading up to rocky hills and cliff to their right. Ahead the beach no longer continued, but eventually began merging into cliffs. They must have been walking for a long time, for Annie only remembered having run half this far that long time ago. A year, it had been just over a year, but everything was still yet to return to normal. It probably would never be quite the same again.

"Come on."

Finnick led the way up the rocks, careful to avoid any sharp rocks which protruded from the ground. Annie followed, skirt hoisted up slightly so she wouldn't trip over. She relished days like this, days of freedom, of wondering farther and farther away from the main part of the district so that all the voices and sounds and crushing feeling of the bustling markets was left behind her. It was like a different world here though it was only a few miles away.

A giant cliff face jutted out ahead of them so they were forced to ramble along beside at on the rocky hill. To their right was a rock-wall, and to their left, as they went on and on, the hill grew steeper and the ocean down farther below. Crabs scuttled to any crevasse they could find as soon as they heard their approaching footsteps. Discarded shells no longer stuck to the rocks around them, showing that they were high enough to avoid the tide.

"Finn, I'm tired," Annie panted.

They had been walking single file for a while now, Finnick in the lead, and he stopped and pointed to a motioned a few metres away, closer to the water but before the hill began to slope dangerously.

"Let's go just down there."

And they settled on the ground, a larger rock behind their backs both offering something to lean on and a small amount of shade from the ever climbing sun.

"Look, there aren't even any boats here."

Finnick looked out and sure enough Annie was right.

"They mustn't come this way I guess," he mused. "How far do you think we've come?"

Annie shrugged.

"From the bay it's been over an hour, but I don't know, it's hard to say."

"Do you think anyone's ever been here before?"

Annie looked around. Where they were sitting faced slightly away from the district, and this part of the rocks looked untouched by even the seawater. There were no signs in the water either. No buoys could be seen bobbing up and down as the tide tugged at their chains. They must have come far past the shark nets, and all the deep sea fishermen and other fishmongers generally went southward along the coast. This place was secluded, and though Annie doubted that no one had come here before, it felt untouched.

"Maybe," she said, "It doesn't feel like it though."

She pulled out some netting that needed repairing from her bag.

Finnick grinned up at the sparse clouds which blocked a small amount of sky from view and looked out at the water. The curve of the horizon was just determinable.

"Wouldn't it be great to be an explorer?" he wondered, "Finding more and more places like this, places no one's ever been."

"We don't know that no one's ever been here before," Annie reminded him.

"Yeah, but we don't know that they have."

Annie smiled to herself, eyes lowered down to her work. Finnick reached out and snatched it from her lap lightly before she could react.

"You're always working, Annie," he said, "Take a break."

"That's because," she said, reaching out to grab it back, "Someone has to."

He held it further from her reach, persistent.

"But why do you have to?"

"Why not me?"

"Because you always do it."

Annie's smile had faded and she looked at him with a flicker of irritation.

"So does everyone else."

"But you always do more than anyone else – and don't even try to deny it Annie Cresta I see you." He went on. "Why do you still do that?"

All the time he had known her, he was yet to understand why Annie was so…

A word for it finally came to him: selfless.

And the irritation now left her eyes and was replaced with something resembling hopefulness. "Because, just imagine if everyone looked after everyone else even half as much as they did themselves. Just imagine what it would be like, everyone helping each other. It's like the same amount of work, yes, but it would feel like so much less it was shared." She paused. "If I can do it, I do it. I know it's stupid but I've done it forever."

Her gaze did not waver and she did not fidget like she used to. Finnick held it for a few seconds longer, then slowly handed that net back.

"I'll help you fix it then," he promised.

She took it in her hands gently.

"But not here," he added, the right side of his mouth pulling upwards and giving her a crooked grin, almost childlike. "Because right now we're explorers, and we're not in the District anymore

Annie laughed, "Odair and Cresta, off to conquer the world."

"Yeah, something like that," he laughed along with her.

She stowed the netting away and drew her knees to her chest.

"So where to next?"

Finnick looked thoughtful for a moment and looked out at the sea once more, Annie following his gaze.

"Out there, past the horizon."

* * *

Finnick hardly arrived home that evening before curfew, with long shadows taking over the entire village and the last light being drained from the sky as he shut the front door behind him. Alec looked back from the stove.

"You're pushing it," he said, "Peacekeepers won't care if you're a victor or not, curfew's curfew for everyone."

"I know."

He ordinarily would have snapped at Alec's nagging, but he'd had such a good day and was too tired to bother. He pulled up a chair at the table, crossing his arms on the table and resting his chin on them as he sat waiting for dinner.

"So you were with Annie all day today?" Alec asked.

"Yeah."

"She's a nice girl," and although Alec's back was turned Finnick could swear he was smiling. He could hear it in his voice. "Is"-

His father was cut off, however, and Finnick jumped. Was it in alarm? No, the shrill ringing was one he had never heard before. Both their heads turned to face the phone on the wall, which up until now, had been inactive. The looked at each other, and after a few seconds Alec placed down his spoon and walked over to it.

"Hello?" he answered it tentatively, never having used one before.

There was a few seconds of silence in which Finnick tried to read his expression. He had no such luck, but Alec's eyes were wary and his brow furrowed as he held the phone out to his son.

"It's for you."

* * *

I hope you enjoyed it. Your feedback is always appreciated so if you'd like to comment or tell me something or point out an error feel free to review. Or not. It's your life.


	18. Chapter 18

Shout out to those who reviewed, your messages are wonderful. I don't own the Hunger Games.

* * *

**Chapter 18:**

Finnick held the phone to his ear as he had seen his father do.

"Hello?"

"Finnick, hello, how good it is to hear from you after so long."

The voice on the other end was unmistakable. What did Snow want? Finnick cleared his throat.

"You too, President," his palms began gathering sweat and his voice sounded more terse than he would have wanted it to. "How can I help you?"

"I have an invitation for you."

Of course, Snow's invitation was really just a polite way of making a demand. Finnick knew this. There was no mistaking the edge in his voice as he explained that there would be a train the following morning to pick him up. This was not something he could say no to. His father had understood, somewhat vaguely, that Finnick had to return. There was some ball or party that some of the other recent victors would also be attending. There were people to meet and greet, photos to be taken, slimy, strange coloured hands to be shaken.

How could he have been so stupid to think that they would just forget about him? He remembered seeing interviews and crowds cheering over victors from when he was barely a child. They were celebrities, and the public did not want to forget them. Snow did not want them to be forgotten.

* * *

Finnick left the next morning, scheduled to return 5 days later. He barely got a chance to pack all of his things, and no chance to say goodbye to Mags, or Wil. Or Annie. His frustration grew throughout the week, at having to attend stupid parties, pose for photos, entertain and dance with girls. He hated everything about the place. He hated all the stupid clothes and smells and styling he was forced to go through. He hated how he was forced to act. And all the while he could feel eyes on him, usually Snow's, watching him, inspecting him, analysing him.

When he returned he was in too foul a mood to be relieved, instead going to bed that afternoon, exhausted from travel. He rejected his dinner, snapping at his father, and sunk into a deep sleep.

He went to see Annie the next day, waiting until the afternoon when he was sure she would be done with her work in the stall. She looked at him in confusion when he approached, but not for long, busy with her work.

"Give me five minutes," she said, slightly too formally.

Finnick nodded then frowned. She was annoyed, or offended, and not doing quite a good enough job at hiding it. She got away from the stall a few minutes later and they began walking through the markets.

"So Alec said you went to the Capitol," she said as they started walking, the tiniest hint of bitterness tainting her tone. It did not suit her well.

"Yeah," Finnick said, realising she did not know how impromptu the visit had been. "Listen Annie, I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was going."

She stayed silent. He went on.

"Snow called me the night before I left," he explained.

"Snow called you?"

"Yeah," he said, "I had no idea about it until then. And what was I going to do, say no?"

Annie nodded, understanding. Even Finnick was not stubborn enough to refuse the Capitol. There had been stories…

"So how was it?"

She looked at him as he ran his hands over a fine silver plate, not really paying attention to it. He didn't answer.

"How do you think?" he laughed wryly. "I felt like Snow's little doll or his puppy. I wasn't the only on there, but he shows us off like prizes."

"At least you get to see the Capitol," Annie offered weakly, though knowing that Finnick would hardly care about this.

"I hate the Capitol Annie!" his voice rose slightly too high and Annie looked around. Luckily no one seemed to pay any notice.

"Finnick…" she said under her breathe.

"Sorry," he muttered quickly. "Let's get out of here."

The cleared out and walked down along the beach, not talking for several minutes. Finnick let out a frustrated sigh.

"It's like everywhere you go they're watching you, and listening to you," he complained.

Annie didn't know how to respond.

"I have to go back in a month."

She gasped.

"A month?" she said. "But that's so soon."

He shrugged helplessly.

"I don't want to go again, Annie, I don't," he said quietly. "And it'll keep happening, I know it will. I'm sick of being told what to do."

Annie was suddenly seized by the urge to reach over and take his hand. She felt like with their fingers entwined and palms pressed together, they'd be able to deal with it together. But she kept walking, hands by her side. It wouldn't do anything, it wouldn't fix anything. Finnick needed a friend.

"I know."

Pathetic, she was pathetic. Finnick needed a friend who could help him. She added:

"Me too."

* * *

Wil and Ingrid's wedding was a small and tightknit event. Still, Annie thought it was a lovely occasion and at the perfect time. It was technically autumn but the afternoon air was salt encrusted, the sea-breeze warm and playful. The wedding took place on the beach down the hill from Victor's Village, which was remote and clear. There were only about twenty or thirty people present, the families along with a few close friends of the bride and groom and their families. Benches had been dragged out onto the beach where the two halves of the crowd sat on either side of a makeshift aisle of flowers.

Annie sat closest to the aisle in the second row, next to Mags, and Finnick was Wil's best man. She smiled seeing them up there together, Wil a man and Finnick not quite fixing his brother's bow tie. She remembered Finnick's comments about the two drifting apart and though he had acted apathetic when telling her Wil had asked him, she knew he was secretly joyful about the decision.

There was no walking down the aisle at District 4 ceremonies. Instead everyone waited until both the bride and groom were at the front and prepared, and a hush fell over them. Annie looked at Wil and Ingrid and the way they looked at each other, thinking to herself that they must really be in love. She had not seen much love in her life, she realised, except what her Nonno and Nonna had shared. She looked down for a second, smoothing down her dress, unable to bear the thought that they too had once been happy, and that all things must come to an end.

A man in a suit who worked at the Justice Building stood behind them read out of a book for a while. No one was really listening to what he was saying. All eyes were on Wil and Ingrid instead whose hands were clasped tightly together and whose gazes did not break from one another. All eyes except Finnick's.

Annie had been watching the ceremony for a few minutes when she felt his stare. Isn't it funny how you can just feel someone looking at you without even having to glance over? And glance over she dared not. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed his head tilted just slightly, imaging those bright green eyes fixed on her. She didn't meet his gaze, because when she did, she was unsure what she would do next.

He had only meant to glance over, but when he had he was gripped with the strangest feeling. It was one of time both stopping and flying past him, but either way he felt like he wasn't moving anywhere. It was funny how he would see Annie almost every day, yet he would never notice her changing. She, surely, had not noticed either, for Annie lived her whole life somewhat vicariously.

She did not fidget or shift anymore. Her eyes were not downcast, but alert and bright. She was not biting her lip, or her nails, or picking at her fingernails and skin. She was still, at peace, she even looked more grown up. She was almost elegant in the way she held herself. He pondered to himself in surprise, when had Annie grown so sure and secure while he had become more and more uncertain of absolutely everything in his life.

Annie looked over and their eyes sealed in a back and forth pull like a tide. Her breathe caught in her throat and she didn't know what to do except to keep her gaze as calm as she could before tearing away with apparent disinterest. She looked back at the wedding ceremony where a net was now being draped over the couple and a song being sung. It was lovely, the song about sea voyage, the touching of salt water to each one's lips.

Finnick turned back after a few more seconds, willing himself to pay attention. He hadn't known what to do when Annie suddenly turned to him, unable to read her expression, yet unable to look away The realisation as to why he had not been able to bring himself to look back at the ceremony was a dull one, and he foolishly tried to will himself to stop thinking about, to not trick himself into believing it.

_Stop thinking about Annie._

She looks different now.

_Stop it._

She looks prettier now.

_No, stop it now, pay attention._

Maybe she just looks the same.

_Why can't I pay attention to this?_

Maybe it's because she's not as nervous all the time now.

_Does it matter?_

She looks sort of happier now.

_Who cares?_

Dammit, Cresta.

_Stop thinking about Annie._

_Stop thinking about Annie._

Finnick felt the urge to cry out in frustration. He tried to convince himself that it was just one of those things that once you noticed it, you couldn't stop. This turned out to be true. Still, he felt that thinking of Annie in this way was one of the worst decisions he could make. The only problem was that it wasn't a choice. He willed himself to keep his eyes on Will and Ingrid saying their vows and the wedding ceremony which was now drawing to a close.

_You're going to count to three, _he told himself fiercely, _and then you're going to stop thinking about her._

But he didn't.

* * *

Hopefully you enjoyed it and let me know what you think your reviews and favourites and alerts and messages are cherished so much.


	19. Chapter 19

Update in three days instead of in a week!

Thanks for all the support with the story. To those reviewers I can't reply to (who have been on guest accounts or whatever) I just want to say thank you for your messages! I'm definitely going to continue writing it and I have plenty of ideas for the future, there is _so_ much more to come. This is the part where I laugh evilly except this is just text so I'm going to stop now. I even ramble when I type, oh my god. Enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter 19:**

Finnick did his best not to scrunch up his nose as a Capitol man with skin like a blueberry shook his hand, breathing liquor-heavy breath into his face. His nostrils stung and his eyes watered as he breathed in the pungent scent, but he retained a cool and pleasant expression as he greeted him. The man introduced his niece, a girl with pink hair and pink eyes which made her look munted and freakish. In his opinion she looked like a deformed animal to him, 'Cotton' her name. She played coy, smiling at him slightly, but her eyes gave away her true confidence and excitement at meeting him. He suppressed a shudder and when the drunken man had turned away, but before she herself left, laughing and saying her goodbyes, he forced himself to wink.

Tarkin had joined him on this trip. It turned out he too would be summoned to the Capitol, though more rarely than Finnick had been recently. He was cordial with Finnick but that was probably as close as they would ever be. Nonetheless he introduced Finnick to some of the other victors. There were many here in the weeks leading up to the Games, mostly those who would be mentoring and several old favourites of the Capitol. Tarkin's friends, or acquaintances or whatever they were, seemed nicer than some of the other victors he had met on his visits. These previous ones had mostly been from One and Two and many had moved to the Capitol, adopting their ways and becoming almost like one of them.

Tarkin's friends were different, less…altered.

After winking and turning away from Cotton he saw a woman he recognised to be Cecilia. She was a victor slightly younger than Tarkin walking past him. She gave him a brief, casual smile in passing, but as she walked past she leaned in discreetly, unnoticeably to an onlooker, and whispered in his ear.

"Be careful."

His head snapped around but she was already disappearing through the crowd. The air on his ear that came from her whisper had faded but instead left a chill which crept uncomfortably up his spine. Be careful about what? Maybe he had been wrong about his initial impression of her. She had seemed distant and unfocused, but had she noticed something he hadn't?

He followed her through the crowd, ducking his head so that when he passed someone who might want to take a photo or dance or greet him he would be gone too fast for them to corner him. She was moving quickly to the edge of the crowd, leaving and going into the many hallways of this particular Capitol mansion. He hung back so that he could just see her as she turned corners, waiting until they were far away enough that he could as her what she meant in private. Did she mean for him to follow her? Or did she too, much like him, crave solitude in this godforsaken place filled with strangers. He got ready to call out to her and intercept her.

Someone beat him to it.

He had just enough time to see Snow stepping out in front of her, to see those snake-like eyes gleaming in a predator-like manner, when he ducked behind the corner. He heard Cecilia gasp and knew that she had not expected him either. Instinct told him to run before he was found, but curiosity – and something else – kept him planted there. He sunk to his knees and peered around the corner into the dimly lit hallway, hidden by a conveniently placed pot plant. He looked through the leaves of it and strained his ears to listen.

"President Snow," Cecelia had composed herself, but poorly.

"Cecelia," his voice was almost a purr. He looked like a cat holding a mouse by its tail. "And what might you be doing here in these hallways?"

There was a moment of silence.

"The other ladies room was packed," she explained, almost coolly, "I was looking for the other one but I'm afraid I got lost."

Snow dropped the act.

"Don't lie to me," he snapped. "Remember what happens when you lie?"

Silence.

He went on.

"I saw you say something to the Odair boy," he hissed.

Snow was several few metres away from him, but Finnick felt almost like he could feel his pungent breath on his own face. He realised that he had never felt hatred before, for anyone, not for anyone back home, not for anyone he had encountered in his time in the arena, not even in the Capitol. But he hated Snow, he knew it, he could feel the hatred almost steaming him. He had never felt anything like it.

Hate burned.

"What did you say to him?"

"Nothing," she said. "I was just telling him to try a pig in a blanket when he got a chance, he seemed totally disgusted when he saw them earlier, but they're not really"-

"I said stop lying!"

Finnick had to admire her, almost mocking him, and her composure after his outburst. She stayed stonily silent.

"And don't," his voice lowered, "Interfere. Remember, there's still plenty you have for me to take."

There was more silence.

"What are you going to do to him, Snow? He's barely turned sixteen." Finnick couldn't figure out what it was he heard in her voice. Pity, maybe?

"You know all too well."

Then he smiled wickedly at her and Cecelia looked as if she might spit in his face.

"You're disgusting. Haven't you got enough whores?"

The word _whores _seemed to resonate in the air, and Finnick finally got up as silently as he possibly could, not wanting to hear anymore. He willed himself to believe that he was mistaken but was unable to push this new revelation from his mind. His visits to the Capitol were becoming ever more frequent, being introduced to young girl after young girl, and then having to dance with them, even accompany them for half the night… He shook as he made his way quickly and quietly back to the large ballroom. What did it mean?

What would it lead to?

* * *

Finnick arrived home the next day after three days in the Capitol, Snow and Cecelia's exchange, along with the looming task of mentoring hanging over his head. He tried to push it away and pretend everything was fine, that he was not thinking these strange, confusing, disturbing thoughts. He began helping Alec on the boat he had recently purchased, using manual labour to try and push these thoughts out of his head.

"Why not just buy a new boat?"

Of course, he knew the answer. Sure, they had enough money for a fancy, Capitol designed boat to be brought in, but Finnick knew his father took a certain pride and joy in the repairing of this old boat. It was not especially big, but there was something lovely about it and its fine craftsmanship. He helped him begin to repair the mast and sails and paint the sides. It was early afternoon when Alec sent him away.

"That's enough for today," he said, wiping sweat from his brow. "Go, have a break."

He had not seen Annie yet since his return the previous day and decided to go find her. The look in Alec's eye suggested that he could read Finnick's mind, knowing that Annie was one of the only people he still spent time with. Finnick turned away, ignoring him, and reminding himself that he should do a better job of keeping anything he had thought of Annie in the past months to himself.

"Ok, see you."

* * *

"So what was it like in the Capitol?"

They sat on rocks by the water by their cast lines, hovering lazily by the lines.

"Oh you know, the usual," Finnick reeled his line back in to recast. "I was introduced a pink girl."

Annie raised her eyebrows.

"A pink girl?"

"A pink girl," he replied grimly, and she smiled at his over the top seriousness. "Pink hair, pink eyes, pink everything."

"Pink skin?"

He shrugged.

"I couldn't tell, it might have been sunburn."

He kept the conversation light, finding himself unable to tell Annie about the conversation he had overheard between Cecelia and Snow. It was haunting him.

"What about you, did I miss anything?"

Annie looked uncomfortable.

"No, same old, you know," she chewed the inside of her cheeks subconsciously.

He studied her for a moment. She'd started growing out of her old nervous habits, but something didn't sound quite right.

"Annie?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to tell me what happened?"

She bit her lip.

"Not really."

Finnick tilted his head.

"Why not?"

She finally turned to him and was almost glaring at him.

"Because," she said in an accusatory tone, even though he hadn't done anything wrong. "You'll make fun of me."

He frowned at her.

"I promise I won't," Finnick declared slowly. "What happened?"

She looked at him suspiciously, then sighed.

She began hesitantly, "You've promised, ok?"

He nodded.

"Well, I was in the stall a couple of days ago, and Roger came by just as I was leaving and offered to walk me home because he lives nearby, and I said yes."

Finnick's stomach dropped, he didn't like where this was headed. He reminded himself that it shouldn't matter to him, that' he shouldn't care, whatever happened. But he did.

"And we were walking like usual, and talking, but then toward the end he went really quiet," she was talking quietly and quickly, an old habit, and nearly cringing. "Anyway before we get there he took my hand, and I didn't know what to do, so I just sort of kept walking." She wanted to hide her face in her hands with embarrassment at this point, looking at Finnick's expression. "And then when we got there, he stopped and didn't let go of my hand."

Finnick noticed his heart beating faster and wished for Annie just to stop talking. He wanted to leave, to stop listening, but he couldn't, and fought to keep his face impassive.

"And then he tried to kiss me."

This time Annie finally did put her face in her hands, cringing at the memory. Finnick couldn't keep trying to convince himself that he didn't care, because he did, he cared so much more than he wanted to admit. He faltered for a second.

"Wait, what do you mean, 'tried to'?"

Annie's fingers parted and she looked up at him through the hair which had fallen across her face and the gaps between her fingers.

"I didn't know what to do," she said, groaning, "I mean I don't like him that way. At all."

This last phrase lifted a pressure that Finnick didn't realise had encircled his middle and he kept listening curiously.

"So I…well I ducked."

Finnick was laughing before he even realised it. It was a trapped laugh of relief escaping, but to her it must have seemed like amusement.

"Finnick!" she cried, "You said you wouldn't make fun of me!"

He tried to stop himself laughing but he couldn't, he almost wanted to hug her, just for being herself; perfect, strange, lovely Annie.

"I'm sorry," he said, poorly suppressing a grin. "I'm not making fun of you, Cresta, I swear."

Annie frowned at him.

"I hope not."

"So how did he take it?"

Her face fell slightly.

"Not that great," she replied drily. "In fact he became remarkably rude remarkably fast." Her voice was dripping with distaste.

He was shaking his head and smiling slightly, and she looked at him enquiringly.

"What?"

"And you didn't realise at all that he might like you?" he asked her.

"No, not until he took me hand," she said, frowning again.

He got the urge to laugh again but not in mocking.

"Annie, you're one of the smartest people I know," Finnick said. "So I'm sorry for laughing when you don't notice something like that."

She elbowed him.

"If _you_ noticed," she said, "Then_ you_ should have told me."

They fell into silence, paying attention to the fishing rods and sea. He smiled, arms resting on his knees, looking out at the water. Annie looked at him out of the corner or her eye and studied him for a while. His smile had faded and he was once again wearing that all too familiar mask of worry.

"So what's bothering you?" she asked.

Of course Annie would be the one to notice something was happening. But Finnick had no desire to tell her about what was happening, no desire to talk about it at all. This minor distraction had already been pushed to the back of his mind by a tide of more disturbing ones. He felt that if he let any of it come out for even a moment he might burst. It was all far too twisted, far too worrying to speak of.

And of course, he couldn't talk about the mentoring worries which also plagued his thoughts, for Annie had a much greater worry as the next Reaping drew ever nearer. How long was it now? More than one month, less than two.

"Nothing," he managed a small smile which seemed to exhaust him.

She didn't want to press the matter anymore. If Finnick didn't want to talk, he wouldn't.

"Fine," she said softly, "Later, then."

* * *

If you have the time I would greatly appreciate your feedback, as so far reviews have been heartwarming and very helpful. Also there will be a new chapter up in 3 days time, special treat.


	20. Chapter 20

I'm going to stop this disclaimer because I am clearly not Suzanne Collins.

**Chapter 20:**

There was plenty of air, too much, so that it she felt it pressing in around her and expanding within her.

Scattered images.

Blood.

Faceless heads.

Can't see.

Must hide.

And with a deep gasp she awoke. It only took seconds for Annie to begin to forget her dream, the harsh light streaming in through her window washing the images and feelings away so that all that remained was a distant feeling of panic which grew weaker with every pulse of her calming heart. It was just a nightmare. They came so often at these times, the months leading up to the Games. How long was it now? Less than a month remained. Feelings of anxiety coursed through her and she tried to shake them off, sitting up in her bed. She pulled herself out and stepped out to get dressed when she bent over in extreme pain.

Something was not right.

Annie cringed and inhaled sharply, clutching at her aching middle. She turned to see blood staining her sheets and clothes and reeled for a moment. She sat on the ground, resting on her knees, stiff with pain. She remembered hearing about this at some point in time, but in confusion brought on by pain she could not clearly think of what to do, so she called out.

Ayla found her first.

"Annie, what's wrong?" she sounded slightly panicked until she saw her. She sighed, "Oh." Her relief was not compatible with the amount of pain Annie was feeling. She looked lost for those few moments, unsure what to do for her niece.

Annie groaned once more, but all that Ayla could do was say:

"Wait, I'll go get Nonna."

* * *

Annie lay curled up in her bed, drifting in and out of sleep. The sheets and her clothes had been changed, and Nonna had shown her how to wrap rags between her legs to stop the bleeding. She asked how long it would take to stop, and her grandmother told her it depends. She then asked how often it would come, and her grandmother said it depends. She asked would it always hurt this much, but she knew the answer was the same as before.

Depends on what? There were so many uncertainties in life, and lying there with plenty of time to herself Annie thought about how bad things wouldn't seem so bad if it weren't for the uncertainty surrounding them. She remembered Nonna laughing at her when she looked like she was about to cry and reassuring her. She didn't want to cry after that. When she knew that everything would be alright she could deal with the pain.

Ayla and Nonna went to the stall without her, letting her stay home to rest. For once she did not protest, accepting the fact that what she really wanted was to lie down for a day. She was thankful for Nonna, for her no nonsense attitude yet mothering nature. While Ayla was maybe closer to what her mother's age was, she had never felt like a mother to Annie.

After a day of pain and discomfort, she woke the next morning to find that it was all over. 'For now,' her grandmother reminded her.

* * *

"Finnick, calm down," pleaded Annie.

Finnick let out a growl of frustration, unable to continue his rant against Snow and the Capitol. They wanted him to come back early, to stay for _two weeks_, the two weeks that led up until the Reaping and the start of his mentoring. He would not come back for the Reaping, but meet the poor souls he would have to help mentor at the train station. He would be away from the district for over a month.

"Next thing I know I'll be living there!"

His kicked his legs out to splash through the water, causing Annie to flinch back to not get wet.

"Finn…"

"Sorry," he apologised, letting he feet float in the gently undulating water beneath them. "It's just, the visits are getting more and more often and longer and…"

He trailed off, not wanting to lead into a recount of the conversation he had overheard during his last visit. He didn't know all the facts, it was no real cause to worry, and maybe Cecelia was just being paranoid with her subtle warnings against flirting and confrontation of Snow.

But Snow hadn't denied anything.

"Finnick is there something you're not telling me?" Annie said.

And he lied, "No, nothing."

"Ok," she replied, biting her lip in thought of what could possibly cause him to keep something from her.

* * *

They arrived in the evening, the fully fledged boy who was older than Finnick by a year, and the younger girl. He had to hand it to them - they did an excellent job of remaining impassive. If you didn't possess confidence or couldn't fake it, the best thing to do was at least to hide or suppress your fear. He nodded at each of them, trying to be as reassuring as possible as the boarded off the train. He went forward to help Mags as she hobbled down from the train, only discovering that she was to join him in mentoring when he was watching the Reaping on television.

He muttered in her ear, "I didn't know you were going to be mentoring."

Surely she was old enough to stop if she wanted to?

She patted his arm, "It's the last time I think, I volunteered actually."

He didn't bother asking her why. Of course caring, selfless Mags would want to help him, whether or not he asked for it.

"Thank you," he said as they entered the hotel.

The pair decided to be mentored together. Just as well, because as much as Finnick had tried to prepare himself, he now realised that he couldn't do it on his own. He knew that if the tributes had decided to split he would be left with the young, now terrified looking girl, for how could he mentor someone older than himself?

For at least one of the tributes, if not both, seeing their parents or family again would never be an option. He and Mags were all they had left, their only hope and help.

He swore to himself that he would do everything he possibly could to get them out.

* * *

The moment when the final cannon would finally sound was anticipated with a weary longing. Rocks, the entire arena had been filled with rocks. Small grasses would sprout between the gaps and occasionally an old and gnarled looking tree, but other than that, just grey stone expanding, dipping and rising over the landscape. There had been mountains and gullies and looming caves to find shelter in, but food was so scarce. All of it had been kept at the Cornucopia, along with a few other small provisions. All fighting had been hand to hand or with stones.

The girl from Four had stood no chance when at once the Careers turned on one another. Two hits, that had been all it took to crack the back of her head open and knock the life out of her, her slingshot and a small but sharp stone falling from her grip. Annie eyes had darted away from the screen with this sudden outburst, but she could feel the close up of the girl's dead eyes beaming from the screen. They were the wrong colour, a hazel mixture of gold and green which stood out from her dank hair, pale skin and the grey landscape.

The boy was fifth last to go, his end being slower and therefore far less merciless. She had lost count of the amount of times his head had been pounded before his grip around the boy from District One's throat slackened and death overcame him. There was more blood glistening on the surrounding rocks than what was left inside of him, spilt by the same tribute that had killed the girl the previous day. Annie remembered the girls name, and not from the broadcasts of the game. Her name was Lauren.

And now, Annie watched as that same boy who had been the end of both of District Four's tributes lay dead on the ground, the only kill of the victor who was from District 10. She felt her face tighten and her lip curl in disgust. This was a game, this was sport, this was totally sick. The television flickered off and Annie looked over to see Ayla in the corner of the room, a deep frown etched into her face and pointing the remote silently at the screen.

* * *

The train going back to District Four wasn't leaving for another hour. Finnick stood idly in the lobby, his one small bag of possessions resting on the ground beside him. He paced slowly while absent mindedly observing the confusing artworks which hung on the walls. It would just be him and Mags in their compartment today. Both of the tributes had died.

The previous night his dreams would constantly be interrupted. Wherever he would be, his house, the beach, the market, in an abandoned building would fade away in a swirl of grey. Anything he was holding in his hands was disintegrate and he was would instinctually whip his head around to see the two tributes standing there. The girl would begin to sob, a bleeding, dirty mess.

"You said I would be ok," she'd say between tears, starting with a whisper.

Finnick lips formed the words, "I'm sorry," but all he could manage was the tiniest fragment of sound, a rush of air escaping from within him.

But she'd just grow louder, until she was screaming.

"_You lied, you told me it would be ok, you told us we'd be ok!"_

Anything he tried to do would fail, moving, speaking, fleeing. He'd look down and find himself falling rapidly down to the rocky arena, and the last thing he would sense before waking would be an unbearable darkness and the sickening crack of his own head splitting on already blood stained stone.

Finnick began to appreciate the true enormity of Mags' gesture to help him with mentoring. If she wanted to, she could easily never mentor again and live her life in peace. Mags must have been alive during the first games, even if she didn't participate in them. How many mentors could there have been at the start, when she first began? Would there have been any? Mags must have seen the deaths of dozens of children to whom she was a lifeline.

A throat was cleared to his right and Finnick saw to see Snow standing with his hands in his pockets, supposedly admiring the same artwork Finnick had been observing. It looked old, like nothing he had ever seen.

"Spectacular, isn't it?" Snow commented.

Finnick said nothing. From afar, maybe it would be, but close up it looked like a hurried combination of frenzied brush strokes and a vulgar combination of colours.

"It's alright," he finally replied noncommittally.

"More than, if I may say so myself," the President went on, "The way which disorder can be brought together so completely, everything in its own place in the end."

Somehow he got the impression he was talking about more than just in artwork. He turned and said drily, "I think it looks a mess."

"Well Mr Odair, we are all entitled to our own opinions."

Snow met his gaze with tight lips curled into a painfully forced smile which did not reach his eyes. Finnick did not return it.

"What do you want, Snow?"

Snow's eyes narrowed. His displeasure was clear.

"Manners," he tutted, "I am merely coming to you with an offer."

"I'm not interested."

"I think you are, I don't offer these opportunities to anyone," he hissed.

"What opportunities?" Dread tightened its grip on him.

"Work," Snow replied, "Here, in the Capitol. You see, Mr Odair, I am the President of a great nation, and with such a position come certain responsibilities."

He took a few paces towards Finnick and stopped right beside him with his hands behind his back, eyes again on the painting and continued.

"It's always hard to please everyone, there are always people, important, successful, wealthy people, who ask many things of me," Snow's voice went low as an attendant hurried past down the otherwise empty hall. "Do you want to hear a secret?"

Finnick clenched his jaw, thinking he was choking on some sort of stench which was obviously coming from Snow.

"Sure."

"Even I have done things I'm not proud of, because they were necessary, for Panem, you see," his voice dropped even lower, even though they were alone. "But the few people who I cannot please ask for something else, compensation, in the form of entertainment. You've met Cecelia, haven't you?"

Finnick felt his stomach churned.

"She's been a great help to me," Snow said, "She and many of the others, the other victors. But you see it has been a long time since we've had anyone so…adored, as yourself. I could use your help, Finnick. I think you understand what I'm offering you."

"Why would I help you?" he suppressed the urge to gag. "Why would I want to be your prostitute?"

"It's not so bad," Snow hissed, "The Capitol has many desirable women, you could have your pick. And I think you'll find that there will be consequences if you refuse." He smiled again, broader but no kinder. "Still, I can't make you do anything you want to do. So what's your answer?"

"You're sick," he replied, glaring.

"Mr Odair, may I remind you who you're speaking to?"

"What can you do to me that's worse than this?"

"If that's a challenge I'll warn you now that I don't think you have any idea what I'm capable of," Snow looked deadly confident. "You're making the wrong move, saying no to me."

"I'm not going to play your games anymore, I'm done. Do what you want with me, kill me, if you want!" he exclaimed, then leaned in close to Snow's face, ignoring the odour. "I'm not going to be your whore!"

Finnick stepped away, walking backwards a few steps before turning around.

"Walk away now, that's fine," Snow said, his voice fading with each step. "You can expect my next offer to not be as diplomatic."

* * *

I wrote so much last week, everyone celebrate that I finally got over my writer's block! Which…you didn't know existed... Anyway your messages are delightful so thank you very much for them.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21:**

It was Alec who answered the door when she arrived at the Odair's house.

"Ah, Annie, a pleasure to see you," he said.

"You too Alec," she smiled, "Is Finnick back?"

"He just got back yesterday evening," he said, "He's not here though. He's down at the docks."

"The docks?" she echoed.

"I have a boat down there," Alec explained, "Finnick's been helping me fix it, but I think he's begun to enjoy it. He'll be far happier to see you though, I think."

Annie said goodbye and gave him a small smile of thanks, feeling the beginnings of a blush creeping onto her cheeks. She breathed out with relief when she turned away and began walking, staring at her feet even though no one could see her.

She found him on the edge, next to a slightly small but still charming sail boat, tying up what looked like the sail, which was half attached to the dismantled mast. He looked up upon her arrival and smiled.

"Permission to board?" she teased, and then climbed onto the boat. She almost made a move to hug him, but seeing him shirtless hesitated and thought better of it. He looked more at ease than he had been for a long time, in spite of just having returned from the Capitol.

"Yeah, still needs some repairing though," he wiped the sweat from his brow before setting down the tangled set of ropes. "It's good to see you, happy birthday for the other day. Here, wanna sit down?"

The sat down on the edge of the boat, rocking lightly with the waves.

"You ok?"

He nodded, "Just kind of tired and hot from all the work."

He did not want to discuss his visit, not yet anyway. As for the games, Finnick didn't want to talk about the tributes, about mentoring, about any of it that. He had pushed that from his mind and left it far behind him, buried in the corners of his mind. He had to, for there was no other way to deal with it. It would happen again and again, whether he liked it or not.

She did not press the matter.

"Yeah, I agree, I think you should cool down."

And with one quick movement she pushed him. Losing his balance over the edge of the small boat he fell down the small drop into the water below. Caught unawares he arose spluttering, his vision clearing to see her looking down on him behind her mass of dark brown locks and laughing hysterically.

"Annie!" Finnick coughed, laughing.

He splashed out and she squealed, ducking down to avoid the water.

"You were already dressed for swimming!" she taunted, sticking out her tongue.

He splashed again half-heartedly before paddling to the edge of the boat. Finnick half pulled himself up, holding out a hand.

"The least you could do after pushing me off a boat is help me up."

Annie rolled her eyes.

"Fine," and went to the edge again to help pull him up.

"And in we go."

Finnick grinned and fell in again, pulling her with him. She cried out but was too slow to react, falling in fully clothed with him. They broke the surface together this time, and Annie gasped.

"Finnick!" she groaned.

"Annie!" he exclaimed in answer, mimicking her tone.

She swum forward and tried to push him under, pressing down on his shoulders. He was too strong and just managed to keep his head above water. He splashed her and she groaned as the water got into her mouth and eyes, both still barely able to breathe.

"Hey!" A voice called down from the docks.

They both stopped and looked up while treading water. The man standing there went on.

"No swimming at the docks during work hours!" he said gruffly.

"Sorry," Annie muttered and heard Finnick do the same. They glanced at each other, failing to suppress their smiles and swum over to the ladder.

* * *

Later that day they went to the rock pools. With her bag in hand Annie treaded with care over the rocks and looked for small treasures to add to her collection. Finnick followed in silence, hands in his pockets.

"Should I ask about your visit?" she ventured.

"It was…interesting," he replied, and after a moment of hesitation he decided to tell her about his encounter with Snow. She listened intently, her eyebrows furrowed in what was either concentration or concern.

"So basically, I don't think I'll be going back to the Capitol again, at least not for a while."

Annie had stopped looking for shells and stared at him in disbelief.

"I don't think so either, if he _kills_ you!" she replied fervently. "Finnick, do you realise what you've done?"

"Well," Finnick said hotly, "The other thing wasn't an option."

"But insulting the President of Panem was and storming off was?" she challenged. He was going to get himself killed, for handling it in the stupidest way possible.

"Look, he can't do anything to me. Besides, I'd rather end up _dead_ than do what he wanted me to do."

"Oh God Finn," she said, looking at him in dismay, "You don't know what he'll do to you."

"It can't be worse than that," Finnick retorted, "Would you rather me become his - his whore?"

"I didn't say that," she replied more soothingly, then added quietly, "I'm just worried for you, that's all."

Finnick went quiet.

"Well, I'm fine, so don't be."

He avoided Annie's gaze, and she finally turned away to look for more finds. The sunlight glinted off something a few metres away, a small piece of fantastically green sea glass, right near the edge where the rocks began to jut and slope precariously.

"Wanna head back?" he asked.

"Hold on, just a moment," Annie called back and went to get the glass.

Finnick watched as she picked it up on held it to the sun, watching the light shine through its smooth surface. And he watched as she lost her footing, landing painfully amongst the rocks on her back, twisting in the air to slam the side of her head against the rocks. Images of a stony arena slicked with blood came to mind as soon as he heard the thud which he prayed had not come from her head upon impact.

"Annie!" he shouted, and with dangerously little care scrambled towards her. "Crap."

She lay there cringing and with great difficulty he managed to pull her up.

"Are you bleeding?"

She managed to make this out, but everything was growing foggy.

Annie pressed her hand to the hide of her head, holding out a hand shining with red as her answer.

"Shit, Ok," Finnick said, trying to regain his thoughts. "Come on, let's get you to the beach, it's not far."

They hobbled a few steps, but it was barely possible for Annie to even stay conscious. Upon realising that she wouldn't be able to walk, Finnick sighed.

"I'm going to have to carry you," he said. "Sorry, but we can't stay on the rocks." After all, the tide was coming in.

The small amount she protested was what confirmed his fears of concussion. Annie put her arm around his neck and he picked her up, cradling her in his arms to carry her. She was too disorientated to care, and instead reached her hand and lay it on his cheek. He looked down at her. Her eyes were focussing on the spot her hand was touching, which had gone from feeling a shiver to beginning to grow warm with the rest of his face. Her eyes flickered up to his for a second and back.

"God, Odair," she slurred, withdrawing the hand. "You're rich, I thought you could at least afford to shave."

Finnick rolled his eyes and made his way carefully across the rocks and set her down on the sand at the beach. She began leaning back but he stopped her.

"No, no, no," he said, taking her hands and pulling her forward. "You've hit your head, I think you might be concussed. You can't go to sleep, hear me Annie?"

"Sure."

"What are you meant to do with a concussed person?" he racked his brain.

"Don't ask me, I'm the concussed one."

_Concussed and still has cheek_ he thought.

"Here, hold still, I need to stop your head bleeding," he bit his lip in thought, then peeled off his shirt and ripped a few long strips. He tied two of them around her head in a tight knot, the blood not yet soaking through. He took this to be a good sign, for it can't be too deep a wound.

Finnick made her sit up, keeping her hands resting in his and looking straight at her to make sure her eyes were staying open.

"Ok, you have to stay awake, got it? I'm going to ask you some questions."

"Sure thing."

It was hard to think, hard to concentrate when her head pounding with a dull, thudding ache. Annie found her vision going darker around the edges, thoughts and words hard to sort out. She kept her focus on Finnick's eyes and face, only half comprehending the things he said. It was like trying to think in a half dream state, concentrating became ten times more difficult and she found her thoughts a muddle, only able to think one clear thing at a time.

"What's your name?"

She gave him the most patronising look she could.

"Annie Cresta. I'm concussed, I'm not stupid," she was slurring her words slightly.

"How old are you?"

"Fifteen."

"What's your favourite colour?"

"Bluey green," it wasn't hard for her to answer the questions, in fact she didn't have to think at all. Her brain and mouth seemed to have a link of their own and it was like she was being controlled as she spoke. "Not greeny blue though."

"What's the difference?"

"My one's more green, kind of like your eyes, but darker, like the water over there," she explained in less of a slur, though still a bit groggily. "Not that I don't like your eyes, your eyes are nice."

"You like my eyes?" he raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"What are seven fives?"

"Thirty five," she said promptly without having to strain her thoughts at all.

"Who's Mayor?"

"Hallowell."

He was about to ask another question when she groaned slightly.

"Is it your head?"

"No, my head's not too bad." She answered honestly, "My butt hurts."

Caught off guard by her bluntness he laughed loudly, receiving a glare from Annie.

"Well it would after the fall you had. Ok," Finnick chuckled, and then more seriously asked, "Do you think you can walk?"

"Of course I can walk, I hurt my head, not my legs," she snapped, only slurring the slightest bit. She rose without his help, but too quickly. She had to half collapse and half knelt back down from dizziness.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Annie said stubbornly, "It was just a head spin, I got up too fast is all."

"Ok then."

The second time she took his outstretched hand and pulled herself up slower. They walked to the hill fine, but Annie had trouble from there. She rested her hand on his shoulder to pull herself up as she climbed and he put his arm around her, gripped her waist to support her. She couldn't help but think about how strong he felt, and only half-heartedly tried to make the hill climb without leaning on him. To his credit he let her battle with it on her own after they finished with the hill and then walked her the rest of the way to her house.

"I need to sit down," Annie stated, immediately taking a seat on the front step.

Finnick knocked on the door, having to do it a second time before getting an answer. Light was being sucked from the sky quickly and he needed to get home before curfew.

"Yes?" Ayla answered the door, and was joined by Nonna a few seconds later. "Oh god, what happened?"

Finnick helped Annie up.

"I'm fine," she said as Ayla led her in, "I just slipped and fell. Finn helped me, it's all good now."

"She's a little bit concussed," Finnick explained.

Ayla glanced back, her arm around Annie, "Thank you for that Finnick."

And she disappeared along with Annie around the corner. Nonna remained standing at the door looking at Finnick. She had a hand on her hip and her eyes glanced down at his torso and back to his face. She raised an eyebrow and Finnick suddenly became very conscious of the fact he didn't have a shirt on.

"Oh, I had to, to stop the bleeding," he explained, trying not to get too flustered by the old woman's sharp eyes.

Annie's grandmother nodded slowly.

"You'd better get home, boy, you wouldn't want to miss curfew," she said, then muttering something which may have been, "Thanks."

She shut the door.

* * *

Any comments, including constructive criticism are welcome. Sorry if I build far too slowly. School started this week so updating is probably going to be affected.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22:**

"Hey, dad, can I go yet?"

Finnick and his father had risen early that morning to work on the boat, which was nearing completion. The days were still hot and that week saw a minor heatwave hit the district. Well, they said it was minor, but to Finnick it felt like a blast from a hot furnace.

"Yeah, that's fine," Alec answered, "Where to?"

"Well Annie hit her head yesterday and I was gonna go see how she was."

Alec gave a small chuckle, "I don't even know why I asked." He then said somewhat thoughtfully, "She's a nice girl."

Finnick fiddled uncomfortably for a few seconds. His father wasn't stupid, that comment meant more than just that.

"So what's going on with"-

"Bye dad," Finnick was already getting off the boat, climbing onto the docks and walking swiftly away.

* * *

Annie was worried for him, worried about what Snow would do because by the sounds of it he was definitely going to do something. She was worried for the fact that he himself did not worried at all, she he was worried because he did not speak once about the tributes that had died, even though she knew with intuitive certainty that it must be bothering him. Worry, worry, worry, that's all she used to do with her life, worry and hide and observe everything around her in silence. She shook it off, telling herself repeatedly that Finnick would be fine, Snow wouldn't dare harm one of – if not the Capitol's favourite victor.

A knock at her door roused her from her thoughts and from her bed she looked over to the warped wooden door. The door opened and Nonna announced that she had a visitor, before moving aside to let Finnick in. She closed to the door just as he began to say thank you and Annie laughed after seeing his slightly defeated expression.

"Wanna know a secret?" Finnick said as she shuffled over and he sat across from her, half on the bed with one foot still on the ground.

"Always," she said.

He leaned as if sharing a great secret, and then said quietly, "Your grandmother kind of scares me."

She laughed and he smiled, just for seeing her do so.

"How's your head?" he asked, then absent mindedly reaching his hand up to touch the spot she had hit. He kept his hand there on her hair but after a moment quickly withdrew it.

"Sorry," he muttered, embarrassed.

"It's ok, it didn't hurt," Annie said quietly, looking down at her hands, willing them to stop fiddling. She wasn't used to Finnick being in her room.

It was strange how now she was becoming aware of things she never noticed or paid attention to before. She had noticed for the first time the previous day in her dizzy state, breathing in his smell. She noticed it again now, began associating different things mixed together; water, but fresh water, not like the usual salt tinged smell which stained, dried and decayed every single building in the district. There were other things too, mint, the faint aroma of something sweet like honey mingled with traces of sweat.

"Hey, I brought you something."

He dug into his pocket and she looked up to see him pull out the bit of sea glass she had collected yesterday. She had completely forgotten about it, even in the plain light of her room if was a lovely ombre green tone.

"When…"

"You dropped it when you fell," Finnick said, handing it to her and feeling a jolt in the second that her hand grazed his. "I thought that it must be worth something, you know, if you were going to crack your head over it."

Annie rolled it over in her hands and looked up at the eyes which matched it almost perfectly.

"Thanks," there was a long pause before she finally asked, "Finn, are you sure you're ok?"

"Yeah," and he gave her the smile she hated, the confident grin he had perfected and mastered to show the world that he was confident and didn't have to worry like everyone else. "Stop worrying so much, Annie. If I worried as much as you I think I'd explode."

"I have to worry about things when you don't," she replied defensively.

"Who says I don't worry?"

"You don't seem too concerned about what's going to happen to you."

"Well," Finnick replied, poking her on the leg, "That's because I've got you to worry about."

"Me?" she said in surprise, "You don't have to worry about me."

He suppressed a laugh and raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, I can see that, what with the concussion and all," he teased, "And I was meaning to ask, you said something after I asked you a question, something about eyes…"

Annie's face felt hot and she hoped she hadn't gone red.

"I don't remember sorry," she said as casually as she could, though she could remember something that she had thought more than said, "Must have been the concussion."

"Must have been."

Annie didn't know if he looked amused or if she was just imagining it.

"Anyway, I have an idea," she said, and before he could ask she said, "But I haven't decided if it's too crazy yet, so I'll tell you tomorrow."

"Knowing you it probably is."

She jabbed him lightly.

"Ok, tomorrow then."

* * *

Feeling her stomach churn, Annie was already regretting her decision.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Finnick asked her.

She felt faint, lightheaded, breathing made her dizzy.

"No, I mean yes, I mean…geez it's high."

They both peered over the edge of the cliff. Right now it looked like much more than 30 feet high. Despite the height, the ocean below still looked a giant, swirling mass. Or maybe it was just her eyes, for when they arrived the sea appeared calm and still, with only the slightest gentle current It was hot, middle of summer hot. It was crazy, the idea that she wanted to jump the cliff that she had seen Finnick jump the very first time they had met. She realised this now and was shifting from foot to foot in hesitation, trembling slightly with the thought of how precarious the whole thing was. One step and she would be falling down into the water.

"I can't do it."

"It was your idea."

"Yeah, but I didn't realise it was this high," she said slightly pathetically.

"Think of it as taking a dip to cool down."

"Odair I swear to god if you _push_ me"-

"Come on," Finnick said, sighing, "We've been looking for too long, that just makes it worse. Another time, maybe."

"Yeah," she said.

Edging away from the drop she picked up her dress. She slipped it on, already feeling safer just a couple feet back from where she was. Finnick had put his shirt on and turned to her, inclining his head towards the path back down.

"Going?"

For a second she stood still, not really thinking of anything. She thought of the drop and Finnick's words, and with her back turned the whole thing seemed so much smaller. And she wasn't sure when she had decided it, but it seemed like the thing to do was just to jump, simply for the thrill of it. All the logic in the world could not overcome this thought, the thought that if she looked down one more time she would certainly never jump. It was either that moment there or never, and she didn't want to pick never. Impulsively she reached forward and took Finnick's hand. Even with their gazes unrelentingly locked in that moment she could not read what he was thinking or feeling even the smallest amount.

"Ready?" she whispered.

"What?"

All it took was one tug on his arm and a couple steps, breaking into a run before they had leapt off the edge.

Within the space of seconds everything had changed. First Annie's slender hand was in his, he could feel the pulse in her palm faintly against his skin. Those green eyes didn't leave his and then the next second she was pulling him to the edge, and he followed. They were so close that they had only just begun to break into a run when all of a sudden the ground fell away from their feet, a feeling he had long forgotten. Soon there was nothing holding them, nothing at all except for the others hand which was gripping for dear life.

There was the feeling of falling; all of the air escaping him, then after a drop which seemed to last forever and no time at all they were plunged into the sea which had seemed so far away mere seconds ago. Sometime around the point of hitting the water their hands had separated and he was left alone in that moment of neither floating nor sinking, suspending in the ocean for that one adrenaline filled heartbeat.

Breaking the surface he looked over to Annie looking at him with a wide eyed, exhilarated expression.

"What was that?" he breathed.

"You were right," she replied, "It's not as scary when you're not looking."

She grinned, and Finnick failed to recall a time when she had looked happier or lovelier.

"You could have at least warned me," he said, splashing her, "I mean I'm fully clothed."

"So am I," she said, then exclaimed, "God, Odair, any excuse to get undressed!"

"Hey!"

He tried to splash her but she was already swimming away. He followed, legs kicking strongly despite being tired. They swam around from where the cliff came out to meet the water around to the bay, reaching the shallows quickly but having to wade through a long strip of water before actually reaching the shore. Finnick had caught up and they walked side by side, dripping in their saturated clothing. He found himself unable to stop casting sideward glances at her when she wasn't looking.

He felt so close, inches away, his arm grazing hers with every few steps. It was quiet, but a heavy quiet, full of unspoken things and accidental touches. What was he to her? Did it really matter when she had no idea what she was to him? Annie's eyes flickered to Finnick and the word _friend_ seemed ill fitting, weak, wrong. Suddenly she began feeling very silly and clumsy foolish for even thinking and wishing these things.

Their arms touched again and she felt his hand touch hers, hesitantly but purposefully. Their fingers entwined and their palms pressed against each other, joined again. He gave her hand a small squeeze and she pulsed back.

They didn't need words, they were developing their own ways of speaking and understanding the things they couldn't share with anyone else.

She couldn't look at him just yet, her heart was pounding so hard she felt that if she looked at him it would explode, splitting apart her ribs and bursting free from her chest. She looked down at her feet and at the water as the smile crept onto her face.

"Annie"-

Finnick started to speak, quietly, but fell silent, the words he had escaping him. There was so much to say but now way in saying it. They stopped walking, the water at their shins moving with the gentlest current. She finally looked up at him feeling for a second foolish in her saturated dress, but then forgetting it all.

The whole day had followed a steady current of conquered hesitation. He would conquer this, he would tell her what she was, the things she never knew about herself even though they were all he could see.

"Annie," he breathed, and the way he said her name sent a warmth she had never before known radiating through her. "You're, I think…you're…"

Gorgeous. Lovely. Amazing. Insane. Annoying. Unique. Beautiful.

Like no one else.

But he couldn't say any of it, all the words seemed empty or cliche or simply inadequate. Finnick tucked a bit of hair behind her ear, his eyes not leaving hers, admiring their vividness, width, the few ever so light freckles which spotted her face. Then the whole beach seemed to fall away and all Annie was aware of was her eyes being closed and Finnick lips against hers, and she was kissing him back, feeling his warm breath and lips and steady hold. The sound of the waves and birds and everything there could have been miles away for all she cared. The whole thing was bizarre and strange and unbelievable but so wonderful that she willed it never to end.

They broke apart a slowly, a few inches separating them when Annie's eyes flickering open. His eyes looked like they held an entire ocean, a whole world she could lose herself in, a light and shifting green.

They walked hand in hand the rest of the way, settling and lying down on the shore side by side with her head on his shoulder.

"Did that just…"

And even though she knew it was a stupid question she was just taken over by the strangest sense of disbelief, like it wasn't real that everything between them had changed within a matter of minutes.

"I hope so," he said it quietly and his breath tickled her ear as he spoke, sending a shiver down her neck.

They sat in silence for a while, serenaded only by the indecisive waves which would crash towards them then seep away continuously. Annie began softly humming a tune she used to sing a long time ago.

"What's that?"

"Just an old song."

"Do you know the words?" he asked.

Did she? She nodded slowly, turning to look at him.

"I think so."

He leaned in and kissed her again; she felt him smile.

"Sing it for me?"

She turned and nestled back she had been, breathed in the salty air and began. She didn't remember all of the words, regretful of letting the song escape her. She cleared her throat slightly and self-consciously sung one of the verses.

_What's that you don't want me to say, there's just so long that we can sleep_  
_Wrapped up in our own reverie inside this cabin by the sea_  
_Where we go out every day, we cast our ship and sail away_  
_But things will only stay this way, so long as they stay down deep_

"You have a nice voice," Finnick said, and she did; soft and low and sweet, the voice of a mother that would sing a child to sleep.

She shook her head.

"I'm ok, but my grandfather had a great voice," she said, "He taught me all these songs. He'd always be singing. He sang so much and so loudly that he even got my grandmother to join in."

"Quite an achievement."

"I think he thought so too."

She leaned against his chest, the rhythm of their breathing eventually falling into sync. His fingers looped and gently fiddled with small bits of her hair and she closed her eyes in contentment.

"Finn?"

"Yeah?"

"When did you first, you know, realise…notice. Me, I mean."

He paused to think.

"I remember watching you, at Wil's wedding. You were just standing there but you looked so different – different to how you had looked before. And I noticed you'd changed, you weren't all fidgety like you used to be, and you didn't look nervous. It wasn't just that day, you'd changed before then, it took me until then to notice. But you were different to everyone else there as well, everyone else everywhere, because you listen and you watch and think and understand and see things as they are. Then I realised it didn't matter because I liked you either way. I didn't care as long as you were happy, because you hadn't changed, not really, you were still you, it was me that had changed and you were the only person who really stayed."

"Oh."

They were quiet after that, laying on the soft sand and wrapped in the bliss of each other's company. This was a new kind of happiness and peace that neither had ever experienced, the rest of the District and world moving on separately without them, being detached from everything. Together they were warmth and comfort and understanding, an escape from the world which had betrayed and taken so much from them.

* * *

They walked home together with the link made by their hands seemingly inseparable. Occasionally they would stop and let their surroundings sink into the distance, each kiss less hesitant, conquering the shyness and quickly stripping the walls which had been put into place before then. They did not pass many people, but there could have been a whole crowd of them for all they cared. What they thought, what they saw, none of it mattered.

They parted at Annie's doorstep. Their farewell was a few whispered words, a smile which could not be suppressed, their lips meeting for the final time that day and a squeeze of her hand. Then the door was closed and Finnick left to walk home on his own with his hands in his pocket, flooded with the contentment and sparks of excitement which he thought he had pushed aside along with his childhood.

Annie, who seemed so predictable and tentative have revealed a layer of impulsiveness hidden even to herself. That day saw a weight he forgot existed lifted off of his shoulders. He began whistling a low, discreet tune to himself, not dissimilar to the song Annie had sung. Before opening his front door he looked over to the sea, breathed in a lungful of the delicious smelling air.

He entered the room and did not notice what was going on until he closed the door behind him. He stumbled, paused to comprehend the faces and the pairs of eyes which had fallen on him. No one spoke, their mouths set firm and grim. Wil standing with his arms crossed, Ingrid sitting near him, Mags on the sofa opposite.

He found his voice, unsure of what news was about to befall him, the peace he had been feeling draining from each limb and gathering in a pool to be replaced by that gnawing doubt.

"What's going on?"

* * *

The song was 'They Stay Down Deep' by Giselle Roselli. I don't know why I just really like this song, and I'd recommend listening to it. (Also I'm too lazy to try and write a verse of a song myself because let's face it that would be cringe worthy and kind of terrible.) Sorry for not updating for such a while but school and everything was making me the slightest bit mad and stressed and incapable of writing.


	23. Chapter 23

Wow, thank you so much to all the lovely reviewers! You guys are so nice and I still appreciate and get genuinely excited everytime I get one. I'm not even going to begin with a list of excuses as to why it took me so long to update. Basically stress just makes me incapable of doing anything including writing and let's just leave it at that.

**Chapter 23:**

And just like that any ease or happiness he had possessed the previous day had been sucked from Finnick's body. He felt know disbelief, only a trembling, pulsing grief which left him feeling like nothing more than a mindless corpse, even though he was still breathing. He still had a heartbeat.

His father no longer did.

Words were funny things. They're just sounds really, notes and strange resonances which can trigger any sort of reaction in oneself. Upon being delivered the news he felt his breathing weaken, his heart beat slow but bean with ten times its usual force. These words had split everything at the seams.

All he received from Wil was an awkward, sympathetic pat on the back. He didn't have the energy or the will power to even care about the lack of comfort his own brother had to offer. They had never known different, two opposites their whole life, though perhaps not as different anymore. Mags actually hugged him, like an actual grandmother would a child. He was grateful for it in spite of the height difference. He excused himself to go to his room, wanting to lie down and sleep forever and rewind just ten minutes of his life to the point of blissful unawareness.

It had happened on the boat, supposedly the mast had not been secured properly and had come falling down and crushed his head. He was knocked out lifeless by the heavy weight in an instant. Immediately Finnick's mind conjured up pictures of his father, whistling, blissful, and taking his boat for its first sail, unsuspecting that it would fall apart on him and be the end of him.

No, that didn't sound right. They had mended the whole thing together, carefully and surely.

It all seemed too convenient.

But it couldn't be possible. He told himself that Snow could not have possibly set that up, there was no way. His mind was flinging out random speculations and impossible vagaries now. It was an accident, a simple accident. In the early hours of the morning he finally fell asleep to these words as his constant, his face pressed into a pillow. He did not cry, not for the whole night, and he wandered what was wrong with him that he should be made an orphan yet not feel the need to cry. He felt sucked dry of any emotion.

At least he thought he fell asleep, perhaps he hadn't managed to drift off at all when the phone began to ring. He let it ring out until it stopped, once, short pause, twice, willing himself to go to sleep. He turned onto his side when he froze, for that could only be one person.

Finnick approached the phone slowly, his head and eyes aching and screaming for more sleep than he had gotten. He stared at it for a few seconds, thinking that if he didn't answer it would eventually stop.

It rang through the third time, more than ten rings each time. There was a brief pause before it started again. Out of impatience he snapped it up and finally answered.

"Snow," his voice was a croak.

"Finnick."

He could feel Snows smugness radiating through the phone, and he knew, he just _knew_ that this had been him.

"So I trust you got my message."

He stayed silent, too angry to speak, wanting to sink away into the ground and to drip through as liquid through the floor boards and foundations of the ground beneath him.

"Terrible shame, about your father, I offer my sincerest condolences."

_Screw you,_ he thought, but held it in.

"What do you want Snow?"

"You know what I want," Snow answered coldly, "There is a train leaving at 10am two days from now. I expect you to be on it. I have an assignment for you."

This couldn't be happening, none of it could.

"And if I'm not?"

He heard a genuine chuckle on the other end.

"We both know that's not going to happen. Don't say I've taken everything from you, I'm not cruel. You still have so much left."

There was a click and the line went dead. He was left standing there in yesterday's clothes, fatherless and about to be forced to do unspeakable things.

0000

Finnick genuinely thought he was going to fall apart, waiting for the second when he would notice his skin expanding and splitting and rupturing from overfilling with a throbbing misery. He lay on his bad and got the piece of rope which had lately remained unused. He tied every single knot he had ever known, starting from the most simple up to the most intricate and useless ones he knew. He would fill the rope with the same knot five, ten times, untangle then start again. He sat with his back leaning against the bedhead. It was not comfortable but he relished the ache in his back, keeping awake and matching the way he felt inside.

_My dad's dead._

Don't think, just knot.

_I'm about to become Snow's prostitute_.

Loop the left around the other twice.

_Why am I alive right now?_

And that was the question which prevailed, because it seemed as though if he had died years ago in the arena there would be a deserving soul around living a life far better than his. So far he had managed to make an enormous mess of everything, destroying nearly everything he had had. What reason was there left for him? He had refused Snow. Snow had killed his father, now he was back where he started, except there was no way out.

What if Snow got to Wil?

Or Mags

Or Annie.

And that made his chest tense tightly, his mouth go dry. He had an utter resolve now, he would redeem himself. He would save the people he loved by working for the man he loathed more than anything else.

It was the right thing to do; the only thing to do.

At some point Annie had let herself into the house and had pushed his door open. He couldn't look up from the rope. He started all the knots he knew again for the fourth time. She sat next to him on the bed so that he could feel her as she took a deep, shuddering breath. Her arm against his was the first warm thing he had felt that day. He fumbled his knots, making a tangled mess of nothing. He cast it to the side, flinging it at the floor.

She didn't say anything, couldn't say anything. It was all cheap, all just pointless, blabbering words. Finnick drew his knees into his chest and covered his face with them. Annie's hand was gently rubbing his back, the other resting on one of his. He felt his eyes grow wet but he wiped the tears away as soon as they came.

"It – It's ok Finn," Annie whispered. "You can, you don't have to…"

Soon they were in each other's arms and his vision was obscured by her hair. Wrapped in that embrace he wished he could lose himself.

"It's all my fault, it's my fault, it's my fault."

"No, it isn't, it was an accident you couldn't help it."

"It's my fault. It is, it is."

"Finn, no…"

_She doesn't know_ Finnick thought bitterly, and how could she?

She sat leaning against the hard bedhead with him for ages, her hand intertwined with his. She noticed the deep depressions beneath his eyes, marks left by sleep's absence. She did not wish to bother him with information, but she had been sent here partly for the reason of letting him know.

"The send-off is tomorrow afternoon," she announced.

"You mean the funeral."

"Yes."

"Do I have to…do anything?"

The idea of having to say something made his throat tighten.

Annie shook her head.

"They'll take care of it."

He didn't ask who 'they' referred to, but could easily guess. He felt gratitude that he was not the older brother now, imagining what it would be like to have to organise things, call the coroner, pick the attire that his father would wear before being cast out and burnt at sea. It was unimaginable.

As was, Finnick realised, what he was going to do with his life now. He was sixteen years old, turning seventeen that year, too old to be taken under by Wil and Ingrid. It hit him then that he would be living alone in this gargantuan house.

And he felt so small.

"Annie, how can this ever get better?"

The words escaped his mouth as a whisper.

"You have people who care about you. We're here. We'll help you."

The people he cared about equally as much. In doing so he was putting them in a great deal of danger. Suddenly he wished to be completely alone, to not have this crushing pressure of not making any more mistakes placed on him.

0000

Enough people came so that there was a small crowd of them gathered as Alec's corpse was sent off. The day was warm, a pleasant afternoon with a strong wind lashing at the sand and carrying with it stinging grains. People came, offering condolences and kind words, but all Finnick could do was accept them silently.

Annie watched him as she arrived, lost and fragile and completely hidden under a grim mask. Grief did that to people, picked and probed and pulled until the only thing left for them to do was retreat into themselves and block out the world. Scanning the faces she saw a familiar one and marched towards him purposefully.

"Roger," she said.

He turned.

"Oh, hey, Annie."

"Have you spoken to Finn yet today?'

Taken aback by her directness he opened his mouth to speak but then closed it again, shaking his head.

"Why not?"

He furrowed his brow.

"In case you haven't noticed Annie, we haven't seen much of each other lately," he hesitated, "It's not the same as it was."

"Yeah well, maybe now would be a good time to know that he still has friends other than me."

She looked over and she followed his gaze to where Rhett and his family stood, his mother speaking and his father tight lipped. She recalled him and Alec being friends. It was likely they were childhood friends, having known each other for years. District 4 did not offer much space for change. Finnick was only nodding with downcast eyes.

"He's got enough people he hardly knows offering him condolences. I don't think seeing me would make any difference," he said, "Besides, as you said," he added with a hint of bitterness, "He's got you."

The look Annie gave him was so fiercely withering that his eyes shifted down to his feet.

"Well, congratulations for trying."

She walked away, disbelieving of how different Roger was to how she had first thought.

People, she found, had a remarkable habit of changing.

She appeared at Finnick's side saying nothing, taking his hand as everyone fell silent to listen to the eulogy.

"You wore shoes," he notes hoarsely.

Annie looked over at him but he was just staring straight ahead.

"Yeah."

She felt the bones in her fingers and knuckles ache from Finnick's hold on her hand, but she said nothing. They listened, and then they watched as the coffin was loaded onto a float and set alight. She was reminded of her grandfather's funeral. There it was again, the fire on the water, floating away until the ashes and debris were carried far away and destroyed by the elements, nothing left, not a trace except for the ones left in the minds of the living.

The crowd dispersed, Annie along with them. She looked back to see Finnick and Wil, two brothers standing side by side watching the smoking and burning float as it drifted further and further away. She got a sudden throb in her chest, only for a second, sad with a hint of joy. No, not joy, hope, maybe, a gladness for the both of them that they had the other.

Annie turned and was surprised to see Roger walking in her direction. Not towards her, though, he was walking past her, to Finnick. He caught her eye and she gave him only the slightest nod. He looked away, avoiding her gaze as their paths crossed.

0000

9:37a.m, it was time to go to the train station. Finnick lingered still, not wishing to leave. He had procrastinated by doing things slowly and leaving packing until the last minute. What he would give to go back and find a way to fix this.

With a heavy sigh he carried his light back to the front door, the house eerily quiet. He had been home alone plenty before due to Alec not being an indoors person. The thought of him never returning seemed to leave it permanently empty however.

He hadn't told anyone he was leaving, was just planning to either tell Mags on his way or leave a note at her house if she wasn't home. He wasn't sure why, there seemed to not have been any time, no opportunities. Plus he would be raised with far too great a number of questions of why he's being forced to do 'business' the day after his father's funeral.

He realised that people must think Snow loved him and would be lenient toward him seeing the impression he had made at the Capitol.

How wrong they were.

There was a knock at the door and Finnick froze. He was standing too close to the door to pretend he had left the house and saw the silhouette of the person looking through the blurred window as clearly as they must see his. He opened the door to see Annie.

"Hi Finn."

"Annie, hi," he had hoped to skip the goodbyes and make it back in a matter of days. "I…didn't know you were coming."

"Yeah, I know, I have to be back at the stall soon anyway. I just came to…make sure you're ok," she said. "And to invite you to dinner tonight, if you want to join us that is."

Her dark green eyes were looking at him with kindness and genuine concern, so different to the unbearable glances and gazes which were laced with pity he had been receiving from anyone else he came across in the past days.

"I, I can't. I'm busy," Finnick explained, hesitating before telling her, "I have to go to the Capitol."

He pulled the door back a few more inches to show his suitcase.

"What…" she mumbled in confusion, glancing from the bag back to his face, which had fallen, eyes downcast. His father had just died, it didn't seem right for him to be forced to make another trip but a day after his funeral. The thought of what the cause could be hit her suddenly, like dropping into cold water. She gave an almost inaudible gasp. "It wasn't, it couldn't have…"

She didn't have to finish her sentence. Finnick knew what she was thinking of and had known that it couldn't take her long to figure it out. His stony expression confirmed her suspicions.

"I have to go," he said, breaking his gaze away once more and picking up his bag. "Duty calls."

"What duty?"

It was a feeble, quiet question which he didn't answer.

"You can't," she said, not caring how pathetic it might sound.

"I have to."

He walked out and closed the door behind him whilst keeping his troubled eyes on the ground a few feet ahead of him. Their hands brushed as he began walking away, a wordless goodbye.

0000

Finnick had arrived at the Capitol train station, unsure of what to with himself he sat down alone on a bench. The place was as deserted as the train had been. For a few minutes he sat, hoping maybe that if he waited long enough this whole thing would turn out to be his misunderstanding, a dream of sorts where he could just go home. Moments after this blissful idea has drifted into his mind it was stripped out by a clearing of a throat to his right. He turned to see a stout man standing waiting for him. Seconds later he realised that he must be an avox, and rose silently to follow him.

He was led first to a car, and arriving at an enormous manor he knew all too well to be the residence of Snow. He followed the avox without question as he led him through hallways and up and elevator to an enormous wooden door. The name Coriolanus Snow had been printed into a small golden plaque mounted on the door. This must be his office, where he tends to business. He turned to question the avox whether he enter or just knock but saw him rounding a corner, his heel the last thing to disappear from sight.

He knocked for good measure and received no response. He went to reach for the door handle, finding that there wasn't one when the door slid open automatically. Capitol perks, they never ended. Snow was sitting behind a table in an enormous study, his piercing eyes fixed on Finnick as he entered.

"Finnick, please, sit," he motioned towards a chair.

Finnick obliged.

"I'll have to be brief, there is a gala planned for tonight and visitors will be arriving within the hour," it had long since grown dark outside.

"What do you need me to do?" his voice sounded hollow.

Snow smiled a gradual smile, which while small said many things which struck anger into Finnick like a beating.

"That's the attitude I wanted the first time," he said, "I need you to entertain a girl by the name of Lolaine, not much older than yourself."

"Why?"

Snow raised his eyebrows, the action of someone who was not accustomed to being asked why.

"I thought we'd established"-

"No, why _her_, why any of them?" Finnick insisted.

"I told you this before," Snow explained, "Let's just say she knows some things which she shouldn't know, and has an awful lot of money. From now on, none of this is your concern, understand?"

"Fine."

"Good, an avox will lead you to your room, which is accessible to you and whoever you please at any time," Snow said.

Finnick got up and walked across the room but before he left Snow added:

"By the way, Mr Odair, I expect you to do the best job you can," an obvious threat, the meaning was clear. He had to keep up the act the entire time. "It would be a shame to have more incidents."

0000

I'd love to know what you think! I will update as soon as possible I swear, I'm hoping I can finish the next chapter in a week.


	24. Chapter 24

Unfortunately I can't reply to guest reviews so I'll have to say my thanks here!

**Chapter 24:**

Crestfallen, that was how he had looked as Annie watched him leave. For the first time in her life she felt a real rage coursing through her like a poison, towards Snow, towards the Capitol, towards this unfair world and their destructive ancestors. It was not pleasant, nor did it give her any energy, but it hurt. This loathing and hatred was acid and it burned. What a mess it all was, the words to describe Finnick kept on piling on; tribute-victor-brother-orphan-hers? And most recently puppet, against his will.

She felt the beginnings of tears – ridiculous, yes – forming and trying to force their way out, but now was not the time. She wandered aimlessly through the empty street which comprised Victor's Village. Curtains were drawn on all the houses, the front gardens highly unkempt or completely bare. She noticed except for Mags', which was bursting with flowers and jam-packed with herbs. They enveloped her in dozens of sweet, indiscernible aromas as she walked past.

She stopped to pick some flowers which had managed to weave their way through and under the fence, spilling out slightly onto the footpath. She brought it up to her nose and sniffed, the smell of chamomile was familiar. She recalled her grandmother infusing in in tea and leaving a small bag of it under her pillow when she was younger to help her sleep. She had associated with the calm and soft linen of her bed and imagined her heartbeat slowing, slowing.

She began to feel uneasy and looked around, having to glance twice before noticing that there was a figure sitting on the front porch of the house, Mags.

"Sorry," she said, "I was just…"

"It's alright," Mags said gently, "While you're here come sit."

Annie did so, pushing open the rotting wooden gate which must have once matched the others in the Village, clean, painted white. More plants were spilling over the concrete and roses entangled and looked as though they were smothering the railings and pillars. Every time Annie came close to the house she still marvelled at the contrast between it and the other houses. Mags must have lived here for sixty or so years.

"Do you know what it is?" Mags asked her as she sat down on the chair opposite to her at the table.

"Chamomile," Annie answered, "Nonna, my grandmother uses it sometimes for headaches and sleeping."

Mags smiled.

"Ah, yes, I do the same," the old woman said. "I don't like normal medicines, pills made in the Capitol's factories. I prefer to know what it is exactly I'm taking."

Annie nodded. There was sense in this of course, that seeing as people came from the earth, so too should their cures.

"Finnick's gone back to the Capitol."

"So I've heard," Mags replied solemnly, worry deepening the lines upon her face. "And so soon after…" her voice fell to a low murmur, "As his mentor I'm partly responsible, of course…"

"No you're not," Annie said in surprise, "You've done nothing but help Finnick, help his whole family."

"That's not entirely true," Mags said, shaking her head sadly, "But if it weren't for me maybe Finnick's image would have been different. I should have thought of something else other than 'alluring'. He was just a child, there had been other ways to get sponsors…"

"It wouldn't have made a difference," Annie persisted. "You got him out alive, in spite of the odds. And when the Capitol decides something for someone, it's done, we can't control anything."

Mags gave a low chuckle.

"Almost anything. I'll take your word for it seeing as you're so sure," she settled. "Tea?"

Annie obliged, accepting the cup and blowing on the hot liquid.

"I'm worried for him," Annie confessed, looking down at the strange coloured tea.

She looked up to see a somewhat amused expression on Mags' face.

"What is it?" Annie asked.

"Nothing," Mags replied, "I just think I recall him saying the same thing for you once."

The sound of the sea reached out to them. Mags' home sat on the very edge of the Village, so that just over a nearby hill Annie caught sight of a small sliver of the ocean near the horizon. The shore had to be closer than it looked.

"I'm not sure what to do," she said suddenly.

"There's nothing you can do," Mags replied, "Except to not abandon him. As long as he knows that he's not alone…"

_But he _is_ alone, at least for now _Annie thought to herself, alone on a train to the Capitol to do whatever Snow told him to do.

* * *

Finnick disentangled himself from the arms wrapped around him, leaving the sleeping figure sprawled across the bed which was meant for him. The urge to escape overcame him, to walk and distract his anxious and overworked mind from its thought. The young woman must have come from a highly wealthy family, yet she had the appearance of being undernourished; The Capitol and its backwards ways.

Surely the walls of the darkened room must be closing in on him, pressing the air out of his constricted lungs out in small, quick respirations. He pulled on pants, his hands fumbling and beginning to shake as he struggled to do them up. Then a shirt, then shoes, he talked himself through the process.

He knew he was solid, reminding himself that he was made of skin and muscles and fat and organs and bones. He was whole. People could not simply melt or fall apart.

The guilt had always been there, well, not always, but had plagued his nights for many years. Lately he had been drowning in it, or from it as he felt it in the deepest recesses of his skull. His own carelessness and self-absorption had contributed to his father's death. He slipped out of the room as quietly as he could manage and wandered hastily though aimlessly through the dimly lit hallways. It must be the early hours of the morning.

He pushed the door into that particular floor's bathroom.

He washed his hands compulsively as though what he had just done and would do many more times could simply be washed off.

The Finnick in the mirror looked more or less the same, if not exhausted. He avoided his red eyed reflection, staring at the sink and forcing the memories of the recent hours which plagued his thoughts away, the feelings of being used and being property.

The guilt was not new.

But the disgust was, and with it the nausea which caused him to grip the sides of the sink as the contents of his stomach were emptied into it.

* * *

"We need to talk."

No hello, no embrace, his voice was dry. There was only Finnick's hand on her arm to get her attention, but even this was formal, reserved before he let go.

"Hi," then almost stuttering she replied, "Sure, what is it?"

Annie wasn't sure what she had expected it to be like when he returned, at least for him to seem pleased to see her.

"Not here," his eyes passed over their surroundings but didn't focus on anything, as though he was searching for something.

"Um…" his hand took hers and she had no choice but to follow him. His eyes were slightly bloodshot, as though crying out for much needed rest. She didn't want to know what had happened to him in the past days, wanted to push the thoughts out of his mind. They found their way to one of the many abandoned wharfs, all warped wood and dislodged nails, looking so pathetically battered as though it would collapse in a second.

"Why here, Finn?"

"He can see everything, he hears everything."

His speech had turned from curious to troublesome, she tried to take his hand but he pulled it away.

"Snow?"

"He knows everything, Annie. I don't know how, but he's got ears and eyes everywhere, even in our homes."

"You know that's just a story, it's not true," but she was uneasy, for was it really so ridiculous that the Capitol shouldn't have spies and devices hidden all around the Districts.

"You don't sound so sure."

"I'm not," she admitted.

Finnick looked down as he said, "This isn't a good idea."

"What isn't?"

"You know what Annie," finally he looked at her.

Seated with their feet over the edge near the water, legs dangling like children's, she predicted the words he would deliver the moment his lips formed them. Of course this is what would happen, the conclusion he would have come to sooner or later.

"So what's your plan then, to just cut me out, or everyone?" the spite that she couldn't help creeping into her tone was out of place.

"You don't understand," Finnick said, his voice heavy with worry. "Snow's watching me, ok, if I screw anything up again he's going to do whatever it takes to keep me in line."

"I do understand," she said. "But you can't just cut everyone out. You're doing exactly what he wants you to do"-

"It's not fair on any of you."

"Well this isn't fair on _you_."

It was as if he hadn't heard her.

"It's more than that," he persisted, "This isn't fair on _you_ especially Annie."

"But"-

"I can't do that to you," he said, "I can't come back from trips to the Capitol again and again and just pretend nothing's happening. What kind of a person would I be if I did that to you?"

She had to understand that it was better this end sooner rather than later. He would do whatever Snow wished of him, and when he grew too old or was finally unable to do it he would accept whatever was to come – either a peaceful, lonely existence or a swift death delivered when he had served his purpose for the Capitol.

"What you're doing right now is worse," Annie whispered.

"No."

"Yes," she said, and with a feather touch she gently grasped Finnick's hand. He didn't pull away. "I get it, I really do, but that doesn't have to be a part of us. You can't…you can't help the things you're forced to do. I still want to be with you."

Already she saw his mind shifting, the two sides of the argument fighting against one another within him. He was lost in these thoughts for several moments, jaw clenching several time subconsciously.

"I'll be away more often now."

"I know."

"This isn't temporary. I'm not getting out of it."

"I know that too," she said, "But it doesn't matter."

"It does, though."

"Not as much as we do."

Annie leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

"I can take it, I swear," she promised.

She told herself she would only have to say those words a few hundred more times and she would believe it. She kept her secret greed to herself, her wish for this boy to be hers and hers alone, though she knew how useless this dream was.

* * *

Sorry for the short chapter, I didn't feel that writing anymore would really flow, oh the days when my writing and chapter length was decent. On the plus side I managed to update within a reasonable length of time.


	25. Chapter 25

Surprise I'm still alive and this chapter is over 1000 words longer than the last (gasp).

**Chapter 25:**

'_Except we don't talk about the Capitol, ok?'_

'_Ok.'_

That had been Finnick's request, and yes, it was a fair one. If she had been in the same situation, Annie would not have wanted to talk or even talk about the things that happened while in the Capitol. The only snippets of Capitol talk that seeped in to their conversations involved bizarrely amusing descriptions of some of the people he had met.

Still, when Finnick came back from 'business', as it was referred to, smelling heavily of a mixture of scents and nearly too tired and distracted to pay attention to what they were talking about, Annie felt a wall there between them. His body was here with her, but his mind wandered.

"What are you thinking?" she'd ask him.

He'd always answer, "Nothing."

_Nothing, nothing, nothing,_ only a white lie as he wasn't entirely sure what he was thinking about at those times.

At least, until enough time had passed. There was another assignment call for him, and he had obliged like every other time. This was at the point where he'd lost count of the times he had been forced to leave home, the names of his so called lovers beginning to overlap. How long had it been, and could it really have been over half a year already, eight months? Or possibly even more?

It was the point where he had to ask himself why exactly he had stopped wondering why. Could all of these women really just need an escort, a date, be looking for what they thought of as a good time with the masses of money they had to spend? He knew from what Snow had told him that at least some of them must be lying. And that was the night where he knew that what he was doing didn't have to be as simple and pointless as it had been.

He was no fool. Though he could hardly care less for it, he was still aware of his allure, especially to the Capitol people. Between crumpled sheets and hollow kisses came the whispered words.

"_Tell me a secret."_

* * *

"Finn?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you ok?"

"Yeah."

He came back to reality, the stone wall lining part of the beach which was acting as a bench for the two of them. "Just thinking."

"What were you thinking about?" Annie asked.

Finnick hesitated, but resolved that he would not change his plan. He desperately wanted to share the new information he had gotten, to make sense of it all, see how it was important and how he could use it. The less Annie knew, the safer she was.

"I can't tell you," he said instead of his usual reply.

"Can't or won't?"

He sighed.

"I can't, Annie."

"I thought we didn't keep secrets?" she said, and then realising how weak it sounded.

His hand took hers, rough but warm. At least his hands were the same, not softened by the Capitol's touch. Somehow, despite being a victor, he still had the hands of an ordinary district Four resident, of someone who spent their days working. She pondered over this, wondering what it could be that had caused his skin to be as tough as a fisherman's.

"They're not my secrets to tell," he answered.

That was all she could get from him.

"Fine," she said, slightly abashed.

"Believe me, it's better you don't know," he insisted.

"It's ok," she said, telling herself that anything Finnick kept from her would be for good reason.

"I have to go soon," he said with disappointment.

"What, to the Capitol?"

It wasn't fair how much time he was forced to spend there, Annie thought. He had only returned a few days ago after a weeklong stay. For him to have to go back so soon made it seem as though Snow owned him completely. And yes, there was a small, selfish part of her that wanted him to stay with her. The times they had together were always special, regardless of whether or not they were doing anything at all. She pushed this feeling aside though. Finnick was the one boy who no one, not even her, could ever have for themselves; even if in this case he wanted it to be that way.

"No, actually," he replied slowly, "There are a couple Capitol people coming who own a large portion of the fishing industry supposedly. I just have to help show them around, go with them as they inspect things, attend a dinner at the Justice Hall, that's all."

"Oh," Annie couldn't help but feel relief, however short lived it would end up being. She stared down at her feet making circles in the sand, toes curled around hundreds of shifting grains. "So you'll still be here tomorrow?"

He pulled aside a bit of her hair and his lips brushed her cheek. She turned just as he was about to pull away to meet his kiss with one of her own.

"Tomorrow," Finnick said before leaving her, and Annie remembered that she too always had somewhere to be, work to tend to, responsibilities to uphold.

* * *

Large scale nets were always the worst, to fix, to make, either way it was a repetitive and arduous process. Baskets and small nets for the ordinary fishermen were made easily enough throughout the day, but enormous tangles of rope designed for the ships which went out deepest to catch, say, salmon or larger fish required great time and strength. The patience required to make several large nets and string them together couldn't possibly be possessed by anyone. Annie swore under her breath as she pressed her blistered finger against her knee in an attempt to soothe the skin.

"Annie!" her aunt snapped, "Pay attention! Look at all the holes you've left."

Annie looked to her left where Ayla sat on a wooden stool, the net Annie had already gone through checking and repairing strewn over her lap. Now that she was actually focusing she noticed the collection of gaps scattered across the area of netting she had supposedly mended.

"Sorry," she muttered, as Ayla held up a poorly constructed knot which was already coming loose with a frown on her face.

"Sorry doesn't mend things," her aunt reprimanded, "If our nets fall apart, so does our business, which means no food on the table, which means"-

"I know, I know," she grumbled.

Ayla was shaking her head.

"I honestly don't know what's gotten into you lately," she was saying.

Annie only half listening as her gaze trailed across the emptying markets to a distant blur of bronze hair she knew all too well. Finnick was standing on the outskirts of the markets, past the furthest stalls with some Capitol representatives. They looked about ready to head towards the Justice Building, one or two making their way over already. Latched onto his arm was one young woman with shoulder length, dark blond hair. She was probably no older than eighteen, presumably the daughter of one of the men who were standing around talking. Yes, Annie knew about what Finnick had to do for Snow of course, but it had always seemed like a chore, a task undertaken with the greatest reluctance. To make her laugh, Finnick would sometimes even describe some of the people he met in the Capitol, ridiculing them for their bizarre styles and habits.

This girl looked almost normal; impeccably well dressed in dress sure to draw attention, but with no crazy Capitol styles like tinged skin or surgical enhancements. She was twirling her hair while Finnick pretended to be oblivious to her obvious interest in him. The girl inclined her head in the direction of the Justice Building, probably suggesting that they follow the few men and women now heading over. Annie watched with her jaw subconsciously clenched and looked down just before Finnick's eyes scanned the market and he caught sight of her sitting almost concealed, staring intently at her netting, then turned and left.

Ayla cleared her throat, and when Annie looked at her she could tell she had also seen Finnick.

"He has to escort some Capitol representatives today," Annie explained with as even a tone as she could manage. "Business."

Her aunt looked unimpressed.

"We have to talk about something when we get back home," she set down the net, "Let's go Annie, we'll finish this tomorrow."

Annie obliged and they packed up and walked home, arriving as the sky was verging on fading to cobalt. Suspicious glares from Peacekeepers caused them to walk quicker, Ayla pursing her lips in defiance, shooting them a look as if to remind them that they still had a fair amount of time before their curfew and Annie followed with lowered eyes. They entered the house and were met with the enticing peppery scent of dinner.

"You're cutting it awfully close lately," Nonna warned, "The both of you."

"We've got time," Ayla dismissed when they'd sat down to eat.

"Less and less every day, and those Peacekeeper's aren't get any less stringent," the old woman insisted, but was waved off.

She shook her head, muttering about things she'd heard happened when people – women in particular – were caught after curfew. There was no sugar coating in these matters. Annie was frequently told about the dangers of law breaking from a young age.

"_It's all well and good to learn from your mistakes,"_ Nonna had said, _"But even better you learn from others."_

Annie cleared her throat.

"What was it you wanted to talk about, Ayla?"

Ayla and her grandmother shared a look Annie was clearly excluded from.

"We're worried about you," she said.

Annie stared down at her food uneasily, not wanting to meet their gazes in the silence that followed.

"About you and Finnick."

Her eyes flashes up, flickering from one woman to the other and feeling very small as all eyes focussed on her.

"There's nothing to worry about," she tried to brush off, but clearly even she knew there was no way to believe that.

"You're a clever girl, Annie," Ayla continued, "We understand that you're very fond of him, but we just don't think that you can see this clearly."

"See what clearly? There's nothing to see," Annie said.

"Don't act like you saw nothing this afternoon."

"That wasn't what it looked like."

"Maybe not," Ayla said, clearly unconvinced, "But there's been rumours, plenty of them all saying the same thing."

Annie hoped she wasn't flushing. How long did she think this could go on? Of all the problems her relationship with Finnick couldn't cause, her surplus of thinking still hadn't actually touched on this. Sure, people could talk, she didn't care. But somehow she had left the people she knew out of the equation.

"They're just rumours," she lied, for some of them could well be true.

Ayla scoffed, and then composed herself.

"So you know what I'm talking about? Annie I don't know what on earth you're thinking but I don't think you should see this boy anymore!"

_This boy_, but Finnick wasn't just another boy.

"I've heard the rumours, so yes I know, but they're not true!" she said. "Honestly, he's not like that, what does it matter?"

"It matters," Ayla insisted hotly, "Because we care about you and you seem to be blind when it comes to this. We would have thought you would have been smart enough to see what's going on. It's in your nature to see the best in people, to see goodness and kindness when it isn't there…"

"But it is there, in no one more so than him!" she cried.

But the look Ayla gave her implied that she must have seen this all before, with more than on girl hopelessly in love with someone who would do them more harm than good. What it must look like to her family…like she was just letting him use her, believing him even though everyone else knew he had many a lover back in the Capitol. Perhaps people were even ridiculing her stupidity.

"Maybe he is, or was, but what's happening is no good for you. You're not to see him anymore," Ayla said sternly, "And that's final."

Words came and went in her throat, the silent rise and fall of a thousand logical explanations none of which could be given nor understood. She was trapped in forced silence, bound by a promise and a secret to lie and play the fool. Both defeated and defiant, Annie rose from the table and for the first time in her life stalked off into her room. She stayed there focussing intently on a book, the ink on the page swimming before her, totally illegible. Fighting was exhausting.

"Annie?" her grandmother's voice, stifled during the dispute at dinner drifted in the door. The old woman shuffled in and sat down on her bed, looking reverently at the book Annie had set aside. It wasn't hard for her to get lost in memories of her husband. She wavered, poised to speak for several moments before finally asking, "You do understand, don't you?"

Annie nodded, though of course she had no inclination to comply with the new rule.

"I understand what you see," she explained slowly to her grandmother, "I really do. I know it's easy to say I understand things to get you to drop it, but I'm not out of my depth here. But that's not the way it is, how it looks isn't how it is… at least not all the time."

Nonna smiled a heavily creased smile and sighed, taking one of Annie's hands in both of hers and patting it, looking at the difference between the tough, weathered skin of her own and Annie's own clear skin.

"My hands give away my age, but they don't give away the things that come with age," she said distantly, "I have so much knowledge after all of these years, any elderly person does, but there will always be things I don't understand and never will." She looked at Annie. "You really are clever, and there isn't much we can do about this, is there? That much I know. But know that this isn't over Annie, regardless of whether we take any part in this or not. There will come more complications, mark my words."

Annie nodded. The idea of what more there was to come from Finnick's temporary situation was a daunting prospect.

Nonna pulled something onto her lap, a book she had set beside herself on the bed which Annie had only just noticed.

"What's that?" Annie peered curiously at the aged skin of another leather-bound book, seemingly without a title however. The pages seemed to be bursting out of the bindings, as though there had been extras added or they had been soaked at one point in time and dried crinkled. "I don't…I don't remember ever seeing that one before."

Her grandmother shook her head.

"It's a journal," she explained, then winced in pain. "Run a bath for my feet, will you? They've been aching all day."

Annie obliged, helping her grandmother to the living room and bringing a small wooden tub over. She filled it with hot water and strong-smelling oil, and watched as her grandmother exhaled in relief as she slowly slid her feet in. The elderly woman caught sight of Annie's glum frown as she looked at her and chuckled.

"What's the matter?"

"It looks painful," Annie replied, still frowning.

"Well that's age!" Nonna said, "I'm one of the lucky few to have made it this far. We work every day of our lives, for little or nothing. This is the price we pay for our labours, the price we pay for staying alive." She leaned forward painfully slowly to massage a veined calf. "I've been alive a long, long time. Some days I feel fine, other days I don't, but that's just how it is. This life is hard, but it is our life, and there are worse things."

"Like what?" Annie said, resigned.

Nonna's eyes glinted unfamiliarly.

"Ignorance, perhaps."

Annie stared at her grandmother and began to really appreciate her strength. She was not very big, but labour and time had made her as sure and strong as the ropes with which they weave. She could only hope one day to inherit this strength, or develop it.

"Who owned the journal?" she asked, though she suspected she already knew.

Nonna was silent for a long time, separated from Annie by years of memories she was no part of. Finally she replied.

"It was your mother's."

Annie asked, "So why haven't I seen it before?"

"There are things…" Nonna paused, thinking of the right words, "There are things that we were worried about you seeing. You didn't know your mother, you didn't know everything. Even Ayla and I have barely read anything in there, me even less than her."

"But why?" Annie inquired.

"If she were alive we wouldn't have wanted to read it. It was personal," Nonna explained, "As her mother, even after she passed away I felt like I was invading her privacy, trespassing even after life. And there were things that would have been hard for me to read, very hard."

"What sort of things?"

Nonna shook her head.

"You'll find out, if you choose to read it," she said, "But Annie, there are some things you never knew. Your mother was not always well, later in life at least. Absent, perhaps, is the right word."

"Why give it to me now?"

"Because your older," her grandmother said, "And stronger, and secrets are dangerous even, and sometimes especially, when you don't know about them. It's in your room if you want it."

Annie nodded, swallowing hard. It was strange that her own mother was a stranger to her. She was just another person, someone gone for many years, yet the things that happened to her while she was alive seemed somehow vastly important. She crossed the room without another word, her grandmother showing the tell-tale signs of once again retreating into the past; almost.

"Annie?"

She spun around.

"Yes?"

"Don't tell Ayla."

* * *

This chapter was ridiculously overdue, I apologise for my total lack of motivation and sloth. Hopefully it was enjoyable however and made up for it like that. School holidays are in eight days so everyone rejoice for me being able to become a hermit for two weeks. I love, love, _loved_ hearing from all of you! Your reviews are the most delightful messages I think I've ever received and it's disappointing that I can't reply to them all, so I'm just going to have to write it here.


	26. Chapter 26

_I guess this is where I explain not updating for several months. I decided to put the story on hiatus as I do, in fact, have a life (which, I will admit, I forgot for a while). I had my last term of school and I really wanted to focus on exams (which I was so, so happy with). I also went to the beach and before my departure discovered that, holy shit, my laptop has broken down. So now I have a new laptop and a more organised life._

_Your reviews always keep me going and motivate me to write so thank you to everyone so very much._

* * *

**Chapter 26:**

Annie looked around again but there was no sign of Finnick. She herself had been late in meeting him and had stopped holding her breath that he would show. A flutter of irritation pulsed through her chest, though she was not sure whether it was directed at Finnick or the cause of his lateness; maybe it was this entire situation, her entire life. This world seemed hardly real and the things which happened on a day to day basis were only believable due to first-hand experience.

When had everyone accepted that this life was normal? She slipped her feet out of her sandals and set them beside her on the wall she was sitting on, her feet worming into the cooler sand below the surface. Eyes closed, she breathed slowly and deeply, the waves washing out all the other sounds.

She had read very few journal entries of her mothers. The first dozen or so pages were short recounts of daily events, sketching a vague picture of a life not so different from todays. She stopped herself when she started reaching longer ones, mentions of the man who was sure to be her father seeping in. When this journal had been started the woman was hardly older than Annie herself. She pulled the leather-bound journal from her bag and hesitantly turned to the next page.

Ever alert, Annie took note of the dates and saw that daily entries soon faded to long, weekly or fortnightly descriptions and stories. She immersed herself in the words and pretended what she was reading was just stories. She was reading about a happy, normal girl with friends and a large family. She scarcely seemed to be alone. Annie marvelled at their differences. Her mother appeared to be somewhat brazen, open and kind-hearted. There was a confidence and steadiness lying underneath her words at the start, but Annie frowned as she realised this began to fade.

…_there are walls setting between us all again. The Reaping is a month away and that means a month of selfish hoping that you or the people you're close to will not be drawn from the bowl…_

There was an inconsistency in entries and there were very few during the actual Games themselves. Funny, there was hardly any mention of them. Reading this one could believe that they hardly played a big part in anyone's life.

Of course that wasn't the way it really was.

"Annie?"

She looked up and jumped to see Finnick had materialised right in front of her, the corner of his mouth quirked up.

"Sorry, did I scare you?" he said, taking a seat on the stone wall next to her as if he hadn't been almost an hour late. "Or was it just the awe of seeing my face?"

It had been a while since Finnick had been anything other than serious and Annie found herself treading with caution.

"Well, now that you mention it, you do look particularly radiant today," she answered, and felt a wave of something unidentifiable but wonderful run through her body upon seeing him grin, "But I was just surprised."

Her hands had gripped the journal firmly without her realising and Finnick glanced down in curiosity and his smile softened.

"I never would have thought books could be special if I didn't know you," he said, "What are you reading?"

She looked down at the worn leather in her hands as she spoke.

"It's actually a journal," she explained carefully, "It belonged to my mother." She looked up at him, her eyes bright as she went on, "It's not much, and I know it's stupid in a way, but it kind of feels like a way of getting to know her."

Finnick's eyes were understanding, "That makes perfect sense."

"But anyway," she said, setting it down beside her with a strange amount of effort, "What's going on with you?"

"What do you mean," he asked, his eyes still, "Why would something be going on?"

Annie didn't want to remind him of his usual state and lose this happier version of him which so distinctly resembled the boy she had gotten to know.

"I just mean in general. I haven't seen you in a while," she said casually.

He relaxed and the spark came back into his eyes, "I have good news, my next trip is shortened to just a day. I mean, I have to leave tomorrow, but I might even be able to get back that same night or if not, the next morning. Then I get weeks to spend here."

This had caught her off guard, and for a few seconds she didn't say anything in pure elation. She turned so that she was sitting facing him and in a strange way missed him even though he was right there.

"That's…" she trailed off, and just managed to say. "I missed you."

"I missed you too," he had taken her hands in his and she took comfort in their warmth and coarseness.

"You've been gone a lot."

Finnick's green eyes darkened for a moment but his gaze did not leave hers. He gently pulled her towards him without needing too, for she was leaning in already to press her lips to his. Everything, including her mother's journal and all her worries slipped from her mind like sand and she felt a pressure she'd forgotten was even there be released from her chest. Her hands moved up to his face, to the back of his neck, to then feel his hair between her fingers while his arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her closer. It had started off softly when he began to kiss her harder, her eyes widened for a short moment in surprise before she began kissing him back just as hard. Her heart seemed to be beating slowly, but with such strength it shocked her and made her dizzy-

He broke away, but breathing heavily he only slightly loosened his hold on her and didn't open his eyes. His face was close to hers, their foreheads touching. He let her go and gently reached up to take her hands from his face and set them down, swallowing. Annie was quiet in her confusion, searching for the right thing to say or the right question to ask.

"I…" he began, then paused. He looked as confused as she felt, and torn, too. "Sorry, I have to go get ready."

And he got up, still holding onto one of her hands, and with reluctance let it slip from his grip as he walked away without another word.

Annie looked around and saw that there was no one around and she was alone with the journal and her thoughts once more. The worries and anxieties came like a landslide and she couldn't believe she had felt so weightless just a minute ago.

* * *

Fighting to suppress the irritation which was flicker through her body, causing her teeth to grind, Annie immersed herself once more in her mother's journal. She did realise how possessive she had become of the journal and how quickly, but she felt it was justified. All that was left of their past was fragments. Really this world was only new, seventy years was only one lifetime, but it seemed to be all anyone could remember. It was natural, she reassured herself, to want to hold onto this small part of the mother she had never known. It was not like the books which had been her companions for so long, for this story not only held elements of truth but the truth in its entirety; along with thoughts, feelings, reflections. Her interest quickened as scanning down a page mindlessly to catch sight of her aunt's name amongst the slender writing. She went to the top of the paragraph to read it more thoroughly after spacing out.

_I love her, but I have to laugh at Ayla sometimes. She acts so much like the older sister, acting like everything anyone else does is childish. I guess to her it is, I won't be the first to admit her maturity outmatches mine by far. We used to joke when she was younger that she was eight going on eighty. Today was different though, I guess she can fight it as much as she wants but she's still a teenager and I see her looking down at her lap and smiling down at her lap whenever Edith walks past for the fifth time that hour-_

Annie, who had been lying flat on her back with her head at the edge of her bed, dropped the book on her face. It was nearing complete night outside and so the rare profanities which escaped her seemed amplified. True enough she heard a voice reprimanding her from the other room.

"_Language!"_

"Sorry!"

She bent over to pick up the book which lay on the ground, the cover of which had almost come off completely, and hastily stuffed the escaping pictures back in, searching desperately for the page she had just found.

…_for the fifth time that hour. It's lovely but I can't help but make fun of her for how red she turns. I keep telling her to tell our parents, that they wouldn't care, but she ignores me every time and tells me I don't understand what it's like to feel something you're not supposed to. I don't know if I'm angry or sad for her for saying that. I told her that's _– the next word was crossed out but Annie could guess what it was – _and that she has every right to feel the way she does. She snapped at me to mind my own business. So I will._

Annie blinked in amazement. She had no idea how she had ever had no idea that her aunt had no interest in men. How had she not known this, noticed, realised? She knew Ayla ignored any man which so much as flirted with her but she always thought that this was because she didn't have the time for them. She tried to recollect memories of her with a woman, any woman, but all she saw was people Ayla was friends with, both male and female, all perfectly innocent relationships.

What must it be like to feel as though you shouldn't love someone? To fear your parents will disapprove or shun you?

A tapping sound broke into her thoughts, and in her disorientation it took several seconds for Annie to locate the source of it:

Finnick's face peered through her window. She looked up, her eyes wide in shock, and looking instinctively over her shoulder to the door she rushed over to open the window.

"_Finnick,_" she breathed. "What are you _doing here?_"

He was very still and quiet when he spoke.

"I have to see you. I need to talk to you."

"What's this about?" her voice was surprisingly stiff and she didn't know why. It was a sudden strain, Finnick had never acted this unpredictable, his actions never this ineffable. Combining this with his random distance earlier that day, Annie felt utterly muddled.

"Nothing, I just want to see you."

Annie become suddenly conscious that she was wearing her night gown, and though it was not revealing she felt blood rise to her cheeks.

"Wait a minute," she ordered, before leaving the room to go tell Nonna and Ayla goodnight – not before staring at Ayla for a few long seconds. When she returned she doused the gas light and candles. The yellow glow disappeared and all the colour disappeared. The moonlight streaming through the window replaced it bathed the room in dull, grey light, making everything appear black and white. When she strode over to the open window, Finnick's face was that of a ghost.

"You're breaking curfew," she muttered to him in concern.

"They won't catch me," he reassured her, "And even if they do, what more can they do?"

He had a point.

He cupped both of Annie's hands in his and stayed searching her gaze for a long time; for what, Annie didn't know.

"Finnick, you should go home, we can see each other in less than two days," she said. In truth he was beginning to frighten her, this was a side of him never before seen by her. "You're leaving early tomorrow. Go home and get some sleep."

He wasn't looking at her, and he shook his head slowly and with his eyes closed as if he were dizzy.

"Can't sleep."

She took his face gently in her hands to hold it still.

"Come on, I want to show you somewhere," there was a glimmer of light returning to his eyes. In the grey light he still managed to hold colour, in all of him; skin, hair, eyes.

"_Now?"_

He took her hands and held them once more, nodding.

"Finnick, there's curfew"-

"No one will see us, I promise; it's safe, and it isn't far. I can bring you back safely in less than an hour."

Annie bit her lip and felt as if she was underwater as she held his gaze; it was steadier now, solid. The temptation to leave was too great. Telling the part of her brain screaming at her that this was a stupid idea to shut up, she gestured for Finnick to be quiet, and crawled out of the window.


	27. Chapter 27

Wow, so, um…it's been a while? I'M SORRY. Summary of my life since last upload: school, school, school, school, insomnia, new job, school, school, school, exams in a week oh dear god. If it weren't for you kind souls reviewing and all the other stuff I would not have had the motivation to write, so thank you for supporting me even though I have been terrible. Enjoy, I hope.

**Chapter 27:**

Just before slipping out of the window, Annie thought twice and reached to grab a thin cardigan and slip on her sandals. It never got extremely cold in the District, but it was still late at night and winter time. She could taste the salt as the wind carried it from the shore battering waves across the town. The moon was waning, a half moon. Still the night held a glow. Hopefully the sound of the wind rustling would be enough to stop anyone from seeing them. They were both bleary eyed from exhaustion, and Annie almost felt as though she was in a dream.

They slipped away from the houses quietly, not daring to speak or even whisper. They kept away from the beach as they walked, sticking close to walls until they were finally away from any buildings. Finnick's grip in her hand was extremely tight, and did not loosen until there were leaves about their heads and the ground beneath their feet turned from concrete and to stone and dirt and grass.

Annie finally spoke up. Out of the town they must be safe.

"Where are we going?" Her whisper sounded loud to her own ears. "Finnick?"

They'd been walking for about ten minutes and he replied, "You haven't worked it out? You'll see, we're almost there."

He turned to her and his expression displayed confidence and reassurance, but she still felt nervous. The path was now leading them up a steep hill and she was beginning to feel extremely tired.

"It's just up here," Finnick said, as the trees began cleared and the hill flattened.

Annie shook her head as she realised where they were. She had _seen_ this place from a distance so many time, glimpses of it behind trees, and yet not figured out until now where Finnick had taken her. It was the lighthouse, abandoned now after the ports were moved to the centre of town where all the residents could be more easily controlled. It rose to the height of the surrounding trees, and though it didn't look that tall from a distance, close up it was a great tower made of pale grey stone.

"I don't think I've ever been here before," Annie murmured softly as she looked up at it.

"Come on," Finnick said over his shoulder, "Let's go in."

"Go in," Annie echoed. "You can get in?"

He led her around the side and sure enough there was a battered door made of warped wood. The latch was broken, all they had to do was push it and it opened with a creak. The light from outside seeped in to gently wash over the wooden floor and questionable looking spiral staircase. Finnick stood aside, his expression unreadable.

"After you."

She stood still for a few moments, and then realised that what she was seeing in him was in fact contained excitement. She entered, her foot catching on the step leading in and nearly tripping. She regained her balance and declined Finnick offer of help.

"I'm fine."

The door creaked as a light wind gently pulled it half closed and Annie jumped, tense from tiredness. She would have felt apprehensive moving further into the room if not for her trust in Finnick and his presence. She was looking up and around at the old walls, heavy wooden beams engraved with wave-like patterns rose up and out of sight along with a spiral staircase. The whole place seemed almost to creak and sway, groaning in weary protest against constant ocean winds.

"Are we going up?" she asked, feeling like her voice was out of place.

"_No,_" his voice was laden with sarcasm, "I came to your house so that we could break curfew and walk all the way here, but we're going to turn around. Right now. Hurry Cresta, or else Ayla will come and strangle me with one of your nets when she discovers I've made you sneak out in the dead of the night."

A long absent but never forgotten smile graced his face and Annie felt a jolt. Could things really have changed so much that she had become unaccustomed to seeing him happy and joking? She felt relaxed at seeing it, bringing colour to his face in spite of the dark. It was such a change from his earlier demeanour, though, that she knew to be watchful of more shifts.

"I think the one you really have to worry about is Nonna."

He laughed, a simple action, and her body responded by making her feel as though she were floating. Her body and her mind had always been one: when she was nervous she would shake or fidget. When scared she would feel physically ill. When she was sad she felt it in her leaden limbs. But only Finnick had ever affected it so wholly and completely. She'd never felt joy or contentment the same as when it came from something he had said or done.

"That's true, what do you think I can do to convince her I'm a wholesome young man with the best of intentions?"

Annie rolled her eyes but couldn't stop herself from grinning. She turned and began to lead the way up the precarious staircase. At some point along the way they had joined hands. The stairs seemed to creak with each step and a few were even partly missing. The stairwell ended countless steps up, opening to a circular room with windows lining the walls, the rattly kind that opened outwards. In the centre of the room was the long broken light which had once guided sailors to shore.

She stepped away from Finnick, releasing his hand, and walked around the room. She looked at the peeling blue paint on the window frames and the white on the walls, the carvings which teenagers had put into the wood for years before. There were a few candles in holders on the walls. The noticed the glass of the giant light was smashed, on purpose, perhaps? Outside, the district slept a quiet slumber. The sound of the ocean was faint. She pressed her face up against one of the cold windows to look out and saw the dark sea not far away. She was oblivious to Finnick's eyes following her wherever she moved as he leaned against some railing.

When she turned around she saw that Finnick had been lighting candles which brought a flicking, yellow light to the room.

"What were you looking at?" he asked.

"Nothing," she shook her head, "Just thinking."

"About what?"

"Just that it's incredible that this place is still standing," she replied.

Finnick shook the match he had been using to light one of the candles.

"Yeah, I suppose it is."

"There was the rebellion and everything but it still hasn't been knocked down," she continued, "Why would they have left it standing? A beacon of hope…"

"Yes," he said, his face grave as he walked over to her and took her hand again. He couldn't help it. He needed her with him, feeling her hand in his. "That shines no more."

She looked behind him at the smashed light. It seemed like such a simple problem to fix.

"Only for so long…"

Her voice was barely audible, he couldn't hear properly. She shook her head and looked up at him, watching his eyelashes like thick cobwebs darkened with shadows. When they kissed there was little joy. Finnick sighed when they broke off and rested her forehead lightly against hers, his eyes closed, murmuring.

"Annie, my Annie."

"Finnick, why did you bring me here?"

She gently pulled his hands away and sat him down by one of the walls. His mood had changed again, dark and shut off.

"To talk," he said, as he absentmindedly stroked her hand and rested his head against the wall. "There's no one listening here, I'm sure of it. Don't you feel it? It's like a different world. Like our bay, it's separate."

Annie had to agree that what he said was true.

"Talk about what, Finn?"

"About us, about how to deal with things…"

"What do mean, 'deal with things'? We deal with thing just fine. It's not easy, but we manage."

"This entire situation is grossly unfair on you, Annie," he whispered.

"No more so than it is on you," she retorted. "I don't understand, Finn, I thought we'd been through this. There's so much I don't understand, so much"-

"That I can't explain to you," he replied.

"Well try," Annie said, "Take earlier today, for instance. One minute, you're kissing me, the next minute you walk away and leave me." Her irritation had arisen without her noticing. "You're right, this is unfair on me, but _not,"_ she cut him off before he could say something else, "For the reasons you say."

"I…" Finnick trailed off. He closed his eyes and sighed, sitting up, looking at her intently. "Annie," he began, "I love you. Firstly you have to understand that. Secondly," he hesitated, and continued. "I'm going to be blunt. Is that ok?"

"Be as honest as you need."

"You know what goes on between me and other girls. You know that I don't want to do those things, because I don't love them, or even like them. My heart belongs entirely to you. The thought of us being together like that turns sour as soon as I remember that it won't always be just me and you. I will have to go to bed with many more girls from now. And I can't stand that. I can't stand the thought that I would be the guy that does that to you. It would feel wrong and unfair and… selfish. So whenever things feel like they're escalating, even though nothing more is happening at this point, I feel like I have to stop it. Because you're not the same as the others, _of course_ you're not."

Annie stared at her lap, thinking over his words.

"I don't know," he said, "If that explained it right. It was the best I could do. Does that make any sense at all?"

"Yes…" she almost smiled for some reason, "But, Finnick, you idiot, I don't think you know what _I _want, and what I think. And I don't care. I don't care about the others. You have to understand that. That's another world, that's the bad world. That world will never come between us."

"Hasn't it already?"

"No," she shook her head defiantly, "Of course not. I'm not leaving you."

"No."

"I read a story once," she began, struggling to stay focussed as she felt his warm breath tickling her ear. "It was about people who kept getting reincarnated and meeting in different lives, years apart. I think that could be us. We could have met in lives before this one, and then once we die we'll meet in lives after. I could never be apart from you long."

"I can't even think about that right now," he said. "How long will you stay with me?"

"Until I die, and after that," she replied softly, "Unless you leave me?"

"Never," he breathed, and she was very close now, curled up by his side.

He stroked her soft hair, her soft cheeks, felt her soft lips part under his. Almost everything about her seemed soft and gentle, but Finnick knew that this was an illusion. Annie's life had strengthened and hardened her, physically and mentally. Her callused hand and lean limbs were evidence of this, but even underneath that there was an extraordinary state of mind of someone who knew what it was to suffer. She was not weak, but she was not invincible. There were things that could break her.

They could never reach her.

When they parted, there was both contentment and disappointment at having to return back to the district.

"I wish we could stay all night," Annie said with a wistful smile, after they stood up. "I love you."

"I love you too, Annie," he replied, kissing her again, "Annie, Annie, Annie…" he was murmuring her name over and over again softly, then finally spoke clearly. "You are," his gaze was locked with hers, "The only constant light in my life, and the only one I ever will love."


End file.
